THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


, 


STRAY  FANCIES. 


MRS.  THEODORA  DE  WOLF  COLT. 


BOSTON : 
PUBLISHED     FOR    PRIVATE    CIRCULATION. 

1872. 


'PS 


TO   MY  BELOVED   SON, 
ft* 

$5  SAMUEL    POMEROY     COLT, 

1 

BY    WHOSE     EARNEST     SOLICITATIONS     THE     FOLLOWING     PIECES     WERE 

RESCUED  FROM  THAT  OBLIVION  WHICH,  I   FEAR,  THAT  ALL, 
Jf 
IO  EXCEPT  A   FEW  LENIENT  FRIENDS,  MAY  THINK 

THAT  THEY  DESERVE,  THIS  VOLUME  IS 
AFFECTIONATELY  DEDICATED 

O  BY     THE     AUTHOR. 


PREFACE. 


The  verses  contained  in  this  volume  have  been  collected  and  pub 
lished  as  they  now  appear,  solely  for  the  relatives  and  friends  of  the 
author. 

Some  of  them  bear  a  personal  and  local  interest,  and  therefore 
will  be  best  appreciated  by  those  who  are  acquainted  with  the  circum 
stances  to  which  they  refer  ;  while  others,  it  is  hoped,  may  possess  some 
interest  for  all. 

A  few  of  the  pieces  may  perhaps  seem  to  be  censorious ;  the 
characters  delineated  in  them  are,  however,  merely  the  type  of  a  class, 
and  do  not  refer  to  individuals. 

Many  of  the  poems  have  appeared  in  print,  in  the  daily  papers, 
etc.,  from  time  to  time,  but  the  majority  of  them  have  never  before 
been  published. 


ERRATA. 

Page  22  —  line   n,  3rd  word  should  be  "pallor." 
Page  99 —  last  verse,  line  2,  "McLellan"    should   read 

"  McClellan." 

Page  100 — verse  2,  line   i,  5th  word  read  "a." 
Page   126  —  line  2,  for  "darkey"  read  "donkey." 
"  T.  DeW.  Colt "  was    intended    for  back  of  cover,  in 
stead  of  "  DeWolf  Colt." 

Page   122  —  line  I,  3rd  and  4th  words  transposed. 


CONTENTS. 


Page. 

On  Hearing  a  Gentleman  Declare  Himself  a  "Se 
cessionist"     .  .         .  .        -9 

Emancipation        .......          13 

Stony  Owl         .         ...         .         .         .         .16 

Waiting  for  the  Morrow      .         .         .         .  24 

The  Parting  of  Sibyl  and  Hastings         .         .         .30 

The  Lament '  40 

Slighted  Gifts 43 

Fall  of  the  Lindens,  Sept.  8th,  1869          .         .         49 

The  Blissful  Hour 54 

Vincit  Qui  Patitur       .         .         ....         .         61 

The  True  Story  of  Little  Red   Riding  Hood         .     64 

Charity 71 

Lizzie        .........     79 

To  E .  B .         .         .      * .         .         .         81 

To  .        ........     87 

To  ,  With  a  Sugar  Bowl      .         .         .         -93 


Viii  CONTENTS, 

Page. 

To  H.  H.  B .     .  9<5 

On  the  Death  of  Miss  Sarah  M.  B d  .  103 

Death  of  the  Heir       ...  no 

Charlie      ...  .        .  117 

Marriage  in  a  Prison  •        ,        118 

Bill  Buntin        ....  .123 

A  Burlesque !33 

Criticism !3^ 

The  Railroad  King      ....  .143 

Kings  of  England .145 

"Neither  Do  I  Condemn    Thee,    Go  and    Sin  No 

More" 151 

Satan's  Advice 158 

Trinity 168 

Darkness  and  Light         .         .         .         .         .         .170 

The  Clock  of  the  Passion 180 

To  my    Daughter    Isabella  on   her    Twenty-First 

Birthday.     By  C.  P.  DeW 193 

The  Old  Man's  Lament.     By .     .         .        ..       209 

The  Country  School.     By .       .        .        .         .215 


ON    HEARING    A    GENTLEMAN    DECLARE 
HIMSELF   A   "SECESSIONIST." 

^  I  BREADS  there  a  man  on  Northern  soil, 

Whose  brain  is  clear  and  strong, 
Who  can  unblushingly  avow 
He  swells  the  traitor  throng? 

"  A  traitor  !  "     Spoken  with  contempt 

In  every  clime  and  age, 
And  branded  with  the  curse  of  Cain 
On  Scripture's  sacred  page! 

I  scorn  the  man  who  dare  disown 

Allegiance  to  his  land, — 
Who  fain  would  fill  the  foeman's  ranks, 

And  lend  a  helping  hand. 
B  9 


IO        ON  HEARING  A  GENTLEMAN  DECLARE 

I  fear  in  love,  the  same  as  war, 

He'd  act  a  dastard's  part ; 
I  would  not  trust  him  with  .my  hand, 

My  honor,  or  my  heart. 

False  to  his  brother  and  himself, 

His  country  and  his  God, 
What  proof  have  I  that  he  would  keep 

To  me  his  plighted  word  ? 

Though  at  the  altar  he  might  swear 

To  love  me  as  his  bride, 
I  know  some  wanton  would  have  power 

To  lure  him  from  my  side. 

Women  are  brave  and  loyal  too, 
And  in  their  secret  souls 


HIMSELF    A    "  SECESSIONIST.  I  I 

They  deem  each  traitor  band  composed 
Of  cowards  and  of  fools. 

We  may  not  fight, — but  we  are  strong 

To  show  revengeful  ire ; 
And  in  our  bosom  brightly  burns 

Pure  patriotic  fire. 

Thank  God !  our  State's  disgraced  by  few 

Who  scorn  their  country's  flag, 
And  raise  "Palmetto  colors"  high 

And  play  "the  game  of  brag." 

We've  patriots  left  who  offer  arms 

To  fight  the  Southern  foe, 
And  when  our  powder  they  demand, 

Reply  "It  is  no  go!"* 

*  Alluding  to  the  reply  of  Col.  Hazard,  of  Enfield,  Conn.,  when  asked  by  the 
South  to  sell  them  powder,  at  the  commencement  of  the  late  Rebellion. 


12  ON  HEARING  A  GENTLEMAN  DECLARE 

HIMSELF  A  "SECESSIONIST." 

My  fervent  prayer  ascends  on  high 
That  God  will  spare  our  land  — 

Avert  the  doom  —  unite  our  foes 
In  one  strong,  loving  band. 

But  if  'tis  otherwise  ordained, 
And  war's  relentless  might 

Must  desolate  her  fields  and  spread 
Its  universal  blight, 

O  may  New  England's  sons  stand  firm 

As  ancient  chivalry, 
And  bravely  fight  for  home  and  right, 

Truth,  God  and  Liberty ! 


EMANCIPATION. 

A     PALL  o'erspread  our  land, 

And  all  were  blanched  with  fear, — 
The  mighty  incubus  oppressed 
The  people  far  and  near. 

Some  feared  the  helm  of  state 

Was  not  directed  sure,  — 
That  'twixt  the  whirlpool  and  the  rock 

No  ship  could  long  endure. 

But  a  mighty  man  stood  there, — 
Strong,  honest,  brave,  and  true  ; 

*B  13 


14  EMANCIPATION. 

With  firm  right  arm  he  steered  the  craft, 
And  crashing  she  went  through  : 

Through,  spite  of  traitor  tongue, — 

Despite  of  traitor  foe, — 
He  crushed  their  malice,  doffed  their  might, 

By  one  determined  blow. 

At  the  foul  fiend  he  struck 

They  in  their  breasts  kept  warm, 

Who,  adder-like,  stung  them  to  death 
When  guarded  from  the  storm. 

One  hour  perchance  of  doubt, 
One  prayer  to  God  for  aid, — 

Then  a  bold  stroke  of  daring  pen 
Three  million  freemen  made. 


EMANCIPATION.  1 5 

Free  from  the  torturing  lash, 

From  brutal  lust  and  power, 
From  the  wild  shriek  of  wife  and  child, 

Parted  in  bitter  hour. 

Free  to  become  true  men, 

To  own  the  soil  they  till, 
To  know  themselves,  and  learn  the  place 

They  may  with  justice  fill. 

The  God  of  armies  then 

Fought  with  us  for  the  true, 
And  soon  our  Flag  on  every  height, 

Replaced  the  "Traitor  Blue." 


STONY  OWL. 

A     LADY  sat  in  her  tower  lone, 

Nursing  a  thought  she  might  not  own  ; 

She  leans  her  cheek  on  her  white  hand, 

Heeds  not  the  music  of  her  band. 

Sudden  a  woman's  wail  of  woe 

Fell  on  her  ear,  acute  but  low ; 

She  rose,  and  ere  she  reached  the  door, 

One  sank  beside  her  on  the  floor: 

"O  lady!  a  tale  I  have  to  tell 

Of  the  direst  grief  that  e'er  befell, — 

My  lord  struck  in  the  chase  to-day, 

As  if  by  chance,  Sir  Malcolm  Grey. 
16 


STONY    OWL.  17 

My  husband  saw  the  dreadful  deed, — 
Unstanched  the  wound  was  left  to  bleed  ; 
But  were  it  known  that  he  took  note 
Not  worth  his  life  a  single  groat." 
The  lady  stood  as  turned  to  stone,  — 
Sight,  hearing,  touch,  alike  were  flown, 
For  in  our  hour  of  deepest  grief 
The  soul  disdains  such  poor  relief, 
As  'outward  vent  of  sigh  or  tear, — 
The  fount 's  afar,  the  woe  is  here, 
Crushing  and  deadly  in  its  might, 
Each  sense  benumbed  with  sudden  fright, 
To  all  emotion  seeming  dead, 
The  blood  a  frozen  stream  of  lead : 
So  to  endure,  some  have  been  known, 
The  surgeon's  knife  without  a  groan. 


1 8  STOItfY    OWL. 

A  tap  was  heard  at  the  door,  so  light, 
And  entered  there  a  youthful  knight, 
His  hunter's  suit  of  forest  green 
Became  his  high  and  haughty  mien  ; 
His  broidered  sash  was  loosely  tied, 
A  silver  pouch  hung  by  his  side, 
A  plumed  cap  drooped  o'er  his  brow, 
But  doffed  before  the  lady  now ; 
Upon  his  bold,  bad,  handsome  face, 
Each  passion  vile  had  left  a  trace  ; 
His  eyes,  once  soft,  cerulean  blue, 
A  baneful  light  now  glittered  through 
Those  loopholes  of  the  soul  where  sin 
Lets  the  angel  out  and  devil  in  ; 
Graceful  and  brave,  but  false  and  foul, 
Such  was  "the  lord  of  Stony  Owl." 


STONY    OWL.        .  19 

"Sweet  one,  methinks  thy  cheek  is  pale, 
While  mine  is  ruddy  from  the  gale ; 
Your  hand  is  cold  as  any  stone, 
But  I  will  warm  it  in  my  own." 
He  kissed  her  lips,  and  then  he  placed 
His  murderous  arm  around  her  waist, 
But  she  shrinks  not  from  his  caress, 
Hears  not  his  words  of  tenderness : 
"  Dearest,  I  have  a  fete  prepared, 
Assembled  are  each  knight  and  laird : 
The  rubies  you  must  wear  to-night, 
They  best  become  your  beauty  bright. 
That  serpent  with  the  quaint  device, 
An  heir-loom  ours  for  centuries  twice  ; 
His  head  a  flaming  ball  of  fire, 
With  diamond  eyes  to  pierce  desire ; 
His  tongue  a  thread  of  silver  steel 


2O  STONY    OWL. 

To  smoothly  cut  and  keenly  feel. 
(Of  him  a  curious  legend  told : 
How  that  a  knight  and  lady  bold, 
Fleeing  in  darkness  and  in  sin 
To  hide  her  shame  from  all  within, 
Were  by  him  sorely  stung  to  death, 
Their  bones  left  whitening  on  the  heath.) 
When  coiled  within  thy  glossy  hair 
What  lover  brave  his  suit  will  dare  ? 
Put  on  the  cross  of  liquid  red, 
(It  gives  the  wearer  pain  'tis  said,) 
Then  add  the  brilliant  blazing  zone, 
And  I  will  know  thee  all  my  own." 

Still  like  a  statue  there  she  stands, 
No  blood  within  those  marble  hands  ; 
The  maidens  proudly  deck  her  form, 


STONY    OWL.  21 

The  fiery  rubies  fail  to  warm : 
Her  beauty  so  unlike  to  earth, 
In  other  sphere  perchance  had  birth, 
As  if  the  burning  hue  of  Mars, 
With  the  pale  light  of  softer  stars, 
Combined  to  form  a  perfect  whole : 
Thus  on  our  sight  the  vision  stole. 

He  led  her  to  a  darkened  room, 
With  stifled  dampness  like  a  tomb, 
Only  a  single  ray  of  light 
Dispelled  the  blackness  of  the  night ; 
It  fell  upon  a  velvet  pall 
Which  hung  suspended  from  the  wall, 
But  turned  aside  might  soon  disclose 
A  waxen  form  in  death's  repose. 

She  sees,  she  feels,  she  knows  all  now,  — 
c 


»2  STONY    OWL. 

Leaps  the  hot  blood  from  cheek  to  brow ; 

Wildly  she  rushes  to  the  spot 

Where  Malcolm  is  and  yet  is  not; 

Falls  on  the  fearful  coffin  lid 

So  heavily,  that  from  it  slid 

The  crackling  glass,  its  cutting  pain 

Crazing  still  more  her  heart  and  brain. 

She  drags -him  fiercely  to  her  breast, 

The  warm  blood  stains  his  snowy  vest, 

Dyes  the  bright  rubies  richer  red, 

Changes  the  palor  of  the  dead ; 

With  shrieks  that  pierced  each  corridor 

She  then  sank  senseless  on  the  floor. 

Her  lord  has  ta'en  another  bride, 
But  never  sleeps  he  by  her  side ; 
With  many  in  the  chase  takes  part, 


STONY    OWL.  23 

Never  to  one  unfolds  his  heart ; 
Says  that  "  There  is  no  room  in  life 
But  for  one  friend  and  for  one  wife," 
Tho'  the  friend  lies  beneath  the  sward, 
And  the  wife  under  watch  and  ward. 


"WAITING   FOR   THE   MORROW." 

\\  7OULD  you  like  to  hear  my  story? 

Then  please  sit  in  the  corner  there, 
And  I'll  tell  it  while  arranging 

In  bright  clustering  curls,  my  hair. 

You  must  know  I'm  to  be  married 
Whene'er  the  morrow  shall  come, 
And  I  watch  eagerly  for  it 

As  I  pace  up  and  down  the  room. 

*  • 

My  lover  he  left  me  this  morning, 

With  a  spirit  gay  as  a  bird  — 
24 


"WAITING  FOR  THE  MORROW/  25 

And  his  laugh  I  hear  resounding 
When  I  repeat  his  parting  word. 

And  he  said,  "  My  darling,  to-morrow 

These  pearls  will  your  white  neck  entwine, 

But  far  more  priceless  the  jewel 
I  have  found  to  encircle  mine." 

But  now  comes  an  hour  of  blackness, 

Of  terror  and  frenzied  despair ; 
My  heart  seemed  a  great  ball  of  fire, 

And  demons  were  tearing  my  hair. 

Some  tale  they  told  me  I  wot  not, 

Of  a  boat  upset  in  the  stream, 
A  corpse  all  tangled  in  seaweed  — 

But  I  know  'twas  only  a  dream. 
*c 


26  "WAITING  FOR  THE  MORROW." 

See,  this  is  the  hair  they  brought  me, 
With  which  I  have  played  all  the  day, 

And  placed  it  oft  on  my  forehead, 
And  as  oft  it  was  blown  away. 

Here  I  sit  waiting  the  morrow, 

And  so  sadly  my  thoughts  do  roam, 

For  I  am  weary  of  waiting 

And  longing  to  go  to  my  home. 

It  is  a  cottage  so  lovely, 
A  cottage  away  by  the  sea, 

New,  refined,  fragrant,  and  cozy, 
Just  fitted  for  true  love  and  me. 

It  was  yesterday  we  went  there, 
And  he  showed  me  a  pretty  room, 


"WAITING  FOR  THE  MORROW."  27 

Filled  with  pictures,  books  and  statues 
And  rare  flowers  of  rich  perfume. 

Then  he  flung  his  strong  arms  round  me 
And  drew  me  close  to  his  broad  breast, 

And  a  thrill  of  joy  comes  o'er  me 
When  I  think  of  that  place  of  rest. 

And  sometimes  when  I  am  sleeping 

He  seems  o'er  my  bed  to  stand, 
And  says,  "  My  darling,  I'm  waiting 

For  thee  in  a  far  better  land. 

But  I  know  it  is  a  vision, 

For  so  speedily  it  is  flown  ; 
And  he  would  never  leave  me  thus 

So  desolate,  weary  and  lone. 


28  "WAITING    FOR   THE    MORROW.' 

Oft  when  I  awaken  I  say 
"O  surely  to-morrow  is  here," 
Then  I  put  on  my  white  satin 

And  my  other  rich  bridal  gear. 

t 

But  the  dress  seems  quite  old-fashioned, 
And  the  shoes  are  all  soiled  and  torn, 

The  buds  from  the  orange-wreath  fallen, 
Although  it  has  never  been  worn. 

Then  one  will  come  to  me  laughing, 
And  whisper,  "  Why  are  you  so  gay  ? " 

And  if  I  ask  "  Is  it  to-morrow  ? " 
Will  reply  "Oh  no,  it's  to-day." 

My  neck  is  wrinkled  and  yellow, 
My  dark  hair  begins  to  look  white, 


"WAITING    FOR    THE    MORROW.  2Q 

My  eyes  have  grown  dim  with  weeping 
And  watching  this  wearisome  night. 

I  polish  the  gems  in  cases  — 

I  gaze  at  the  ring  on  my  hand  — 

I  fold  and  refold  my  dresses, 

And  wind  the  small  watch  on  my  stand. 

"Oh,  can  it  be  that  the  morrow 

Came  and  went  in  the  drear  blank  time, 
That  my  love  grieved  not  to  find  me 
And  so  passed  to  another  clime  ? 

I  know  not  —  and  now  am  sleepy, 
But  please  wake  me  in  time  to  dine, 

To-morrow  we're  to  wed  early 

And  breakfast  is  ordered  at  nine." 


THE  PARTING  OF  SIBYL  AND  HASTINGS. 

\ylTlTHIN  a  costly  chamber  sat 

A  maid  of  courtly  fame, 
For  beauty  not  for  birth  renowned, 

And  Sibyl  is  her  name. 

\ 
Her  dark  eye  has  a  wistful  gaze, 

A  flush  is  on  her  cheek, 
A  finger  on  her  rosy  mouth, 
As  if  she  feared  to  speak. 

She  listens  ;  ah,  she  hears  a  sound, 
And  sure  some  one  is  there : 

3° 


T-HE    PARTING    OF    SIBYL    AND    HASTINGS.  3! 

Tis  he !  the  loved  one  has  returned, 
His  step  is  on  the  stair. 

One  bound,  and  she  is  in  his  arms, 

•Her  head  is  on  his  breast, 
For  all  her  grief  ?s  well  repaid, 

At  last  has  found  her  rest. 

The  wondrous  thrill  of  ecstacy, 

The  transport  and  the  bliss, — 
What  poet's  pen  has  power  to  paint, 

Of  such  an  hour  as  this  ? 

The  human  heart  for  once  has  all 

Of  rapture  it  can  hold, 
Ages  of  lesser  happiness 

Are  in  that  moment  told. 


32  THE    PARTING    OF    SIBYL    AND    HASTINGS. 

Were  heaven  opened  to  our  view 

By  some  magician's  spell, 
Celestial  joys  I  fear  we'd  spurn, 

And  love  the  earth  too  well. 

But  quick  as  thought  the  maiden  turned, 
That  dream  of  joy  had  past ; 

She  turned  and  of  the  haughty  lord,. 
This  question  mildly  asked: 

"  Hast  thou  in  exile  found  a  bride, 
More  loved  than  Sibyl,  speak  ? " 
He  speaks  not,  falters,  'tis  too  true, 
Be  still,  my  heart,  or  break. 

"  Sibyl,"  began  the  conscious  lord, 
"  O  answer  me,  pray  do  !  " 


THE    PARTING   OF    SIBYL    AND    HASTINGS.  33 

• 

"  Well,  be  it  so,  my  task  is  done ; 
What  thou  hast  said  is  true." 

She  did  not  weep,  she  did  not  faint, 

And  from  her  lips  no  cry ; 
Naught  but  her  marble  cheek  disclosed 

Her  fearful  agony. 

And  then  by  effort  strong  and  vast, 

Which  exhausts  years  of  life, 
She  said  unto  her  faithless  lord : 

"Depart,  and  seek  thy  wife. 

Farewell,  Lord  Hastings,  nothing  more 

Is  needed  now;  depart, 
And  Heaven  bless  both  thee  and  thine, — 

I  pray  this  from  my  heart." 
D 


34  THE    PARTING    OF    SIBYL    AND    HASTINGS. 

"  No,  Sibyl,  you  must  hear  my  tale :  — 
I  sought  you  once  in  vain 

To  place  you  in  my  heart  of  hearts 
Had  Fate  so  wove  the  chain. 

You  know  how  well  I  loved  in  youth, 
A  high-born,  handsome  dame, 

And  that  her  kinsman  parted  us 
'Till  I  could  win  a  name. 

She  wed  another,  and  in  wrath 
I  spurned  her  from  my  soul ; 
-  But  on  his  death  soon  learned  from  her 
The  act  was  by  control. 

She  followed  me  in  exile  drear, 
To  a  far  distant  land, 


THE    PARTING    OF    SIBYL   AND    HASTINGS.  35 

Then  out  of  gratitude  and  love 
I  offered  her  my  hand. 

I  knew  not  when  the  war  would  cease, 

Or  if  we  then  should  meet : — 
I  dare  not  say  I  love  thee  still ; 

Forgive  me,  I  entreat." 

"  I  -do  forgive  thee,"  Sibyl  cried, 
"And  pray  that  Heaven  may  shed 

Its  choicest  gifts  on  thee  and  her 
Whom  thou  hast  lately  wed. 

O  may  she  love  thee  tenderly, 

And  cherish  thee  as  well, 
As  fondly,  as  I  would  have  done," 

ft 

And  now  the  tear-drops  fell. 


36  THE   PARTING   OF    SIBYL   AND   HASTINGS. 

"  Thank  God,"  said  Hastings,  "  that  my  fault 

At  least  has  left  thee  pure ; 
Another  love  may  warm  thy  heart 

And  all  thy  sorrows  cure." 

Now  the  wronged  Sibyl  showed  her  pride, 

And  turned  her  flashing  eye 
As  a  bold  wounded  eagle  might 

Upon  the  sportsman  nigh : 

"  Many  a  lesson,  noble  lord, 

Perchance  I  learned  of  thee, 
But  there  is  one  you  fail  to  teach  — 
.    That  love  can  transferred  be. 

"Think  you  I'd  give  my  wasted  heart 
And  take  one  in  return? 


THE    PARTING    OF    SIBYL    AND    HASTINGS. 

That  Passion  has  not  yet  worn  out 
Where  love  may  brightly  burn  ? 

O  coarse  and  rude  belief  of  man, 

If  the  mere  form  be  pure, 
There's  nothing  lost  that  truth  and  peace 

And  wedded  bliss  insure. 

Where  is  the  bloom  of  sinless  thought 

Ne'er  found  on  earth  again  ? 
Gone  with  the  treasure  of  thy  love, — 

Go  seek  it  then  in  vain. 

Shall  I  to  lover  pledge  my  troth 

And  fealty  swear,  while  now 
Upon  my  lips  doth  burn  the  kiss 

With  which  we  sealed  our  vow  ? 
*D 

449816 


38  THE   PARTING   OF    SIBYL   AND    HASTINGS. 

You  never  felt  the  maddening  spell 
That  chains  my  spirit  fast; 

You  cannot  dream  the  depth  of  love 
That  must  forever  last." 

Then  with  an  agonizing  sob  . 

Into  his  arms  she  fell, 
And  with  one  passionate  caress 

He  took  a  last  farewell. 

O  Hastings  !  falsehood  never  yet 

Sullied  thy  lips  to  man  ; 
Why  break  thy  faith  with  woman  then  ? 

Pray  answer,  if -you  can. 

And  in  thy  evil  hour  of  doom, 
Of  stars  and  splendor  shorn, 


THE    PARTING    OF    SIBYL    AND    HASTINGS.  39 

Mayst  think  the  falcon's  beak  was  sharp 
With  which  he  kissed  that  morn.* 

Sweet  Sibyl,  learn  that  love  like  thine, 

So  free  from  earthly  leaven, 
Finds  no  congenial  soil  below, — 

It  only  blooms  in  Heaven. 

*  Alluding  to  the  words  of  the  tymbesteres. 


THE   LAMENT. 

T'M  seated  on  the  rock,  Annie  — 

The  one  so  near  the  shore ; 
But  lonely  are  the  waves,  Annie,  — 
I  sigh  for  thee  once  more. 

I  miss  thy  hand  in  mine,  Annie, 
Thy  gentle  tones  of  love, 

With  the  summer  breeze  to  fan  us, 
And  the  bright  stars  above. 

Dost  remember  one  night,  Annie, 

When  the  moon  shone  on  high, 
40 


THE    LAMENT.  41 

And  softly  fell  its  rays,  Annie, 

And  kissed  both  you  and  I  ? 

i 

But  do  not  mistake  me,  Annie, 

It  was  the  moon  I  said, 
But  will  confess  she  tempted  me 

To  take  her  place  instead. 

But  now  I'm  all  alone,  Annie, 

And  can  do  naught  but  weep 
For  the  sweet  words  and  earnest  vows 

I  trust  that  you  will  keep. 

Then  do  not  forget  me,  Annie, 

This  cold  November  night, 
For  love  is  like  the  sun,  Annie, 

To  keep  us  warm  and  bright. 


42  THE   LAMENT. 

And  let  no  other  love,  Annie, 
Find  place  within  thy  heart, 

But  be  true  as  steel,  my  Annie, 
Then  God  alone  can  part. 


SLIGHTED  GIFTS. 

T  GAVE  thee  once  a  lovely  flower 

Thy  home  to  render  bright, 
For  thee  to  guard  with  jealous  eye 
And  nurture  day  and  night. 

I  gave  to  thee  a  perfume  rare, 
Too  seldom  found  on  earth, 

But  from  the  sweets  of  Paradise 
Selected  for  its  worth. 

Another  sacred  gift  was  thine, 

A  pure  and  peerless  gem, 
43 


44  SLIGHTED    GIFTS. 

Whose  spotless  lustre  well  adorned 
A  seraph's  diadem. 

Where  is  the  flower  ?  —  its  petals  drooped 

Without  thy  watchful  care ; 
'  Twas  worn  upon  a  stranger's  breast ; 

Alas !  it  withered  there. 

The  perfume  so  despised  by  thee 

Another  dared  inhale, 

* 

But  to  inspire  his  grosser  sense 
Fragrance  from  Heaven  must  fail. 

The  gem  unprized,  neglected,  scorned, 
One  sought  to  make  his  own, 

But  soon  'neath  his  unhallowed  touch 
He  mourned  its  lustre  gone. 


SLIGHTED    GIFTS.  45 

The  casket  that  these  gifts  enshrined, 
Though  worthless  deemed  by  thee, 

Was  not  denied  a  place  within 
The  realms  of  Deity. 

Dost  marvel  when  these  treasures  rare 

Were  ever  owned  in  life  ? 
I  gave  them  all  when  I  bestowed 

Thy  young  and  gentle  wife. 

Beauty,  and  love,  and  innocence, 

The  flower,  perfume,  and  gem, 
But  valueless  alike  to  thee 

Until  deprived  of  them. 

By  coldness,  perfidy,  and  scorn 

Each  did  in  turn  depart, 
E 


46  SLIGHTED    GIFTS. 

And  left  behind  a  fearful  wreck, 
A  blighted  human  heart. 

The  wily  tempter  promised  all 
Thy  right  alone  to  give, 

To  every  wound  applied  a  balm, 
And  bade  the  victim  live. 

But  tho'  in  dark  and  sinful  paths 
Awhile  she  dared  to  roam, 

Jesus  with  earnest  love  reclaimed 
And  brought  the  wanderer  home. 

A  life  of  penitence  and  woe 
For  His  dear  sake  was  blest, 

And  angels  wiped  her  tears  away 
And  welcomed  her  to  rest. 


SLIGHTED    GIFTS.  47 

The  contrite  sinner's  humble  prayer 

Is  ne'er  despised  by  me  ; 
For  such  as  these  the  Saviour  died, 

But  not  for  such  as  thee. 

Tho'  heaped  with  honors  upon  earth, 

Before  me  thou  dost  stand 
In  thy  own  utter  worthlessness, 
"Among  the  outcast  band. 

Beside  thee  he  who  falsely  lured 

A  chosen  one  of  mine, 
His  sin  must  meet  its  punishment, — 

A  greater  one  is  thine. 

For  thou  didst  glory  in  thy  shame, 
And  deem  thyself  misused, 


48  SLIGHTED    GIFTS. 

Nor  ever  breathed  one  fervent  prayer 
For  all  my  gifts  abused. 

Now  for  thy  unrepentant  soul 
This  shall  the  torture  be : 

Eternal  consciousness  of  self — 
Eternal  loss  of  me. 


FALL  OF  THE  LINDENS. 
SEPTEMBER  8,  1869. 

A   LL  nature  seemed  lulled  in  a  calm  repose, 
Not  a  breath  disturbed  the  leaves  of  the  rose ; 
Windows  were  raised  to  let  in  the  cool  air, 
But  a  stifling  vapor,  all  that  was  there. 

Before  a  broad  mansion  some  lindens  stood, 

They  had  named  themselves  "  The  pride  of  the  wood. 

Rugged  and  tall,  as  formed  for  each  gale, 

Not  even  Envy  could  hint  they  were  frail. 
*E  49 


5O  FALL    OF    THE    LINDENS. 

A  lady  observes  them  with  marked  delight, 

'  Till  she  hears  a  loved  voice,  cheerful  and  bright ; 

And  one  then  advances  close  to  her  side 

On  whom  she  .looks  with  affection  and  pride : 

It  is  a  beaming  face,  unstained  by  sin, 

Undisturbed  by  passion  raging  within, 

Unsullied  and  calm  as  a  silvery  lake 

On  which  angry  billows  ne'er  toss  and  break ; 

And  yet  not  deficient  in  strength  of  mind, 

But  formed  "to  combat  with  his  kind." 

He  gazed  awhile  on  the  grand  old  trees, 

And  said :  "  I'd  not  take  a  fortune  for  these." 

The  proud  lindens  thought,  "We'll  treasure  that  word, 
And  a  sweeter  sound  we  have  never  heard, 
For  even  if  wood  should  chance  to  be  dear 
We'll  not  be  cut  down  from  our  places  here : 


FALL    OF    THE    LINDENS.  51 

And  where  is  the  wind  that  will  be  so  bold 
To  topple  us  down  from  our  standing  old  ? 
Now  the  sweet  orange-tree  deems  itself  rare, 
In  a  hot-house  raised  with  such  tender  care, 
But  it  cannot  endure  the  cold  and  gale, 
Soon  nipped  by  the  frost  or  killed  'by  the  hail, 
While  we  set  at  defiance  age  and  clime, 
And  raise  our  tall  heads  in  spite  of  old  Time." 

The  storm-king  abroad  heard  their  boasting  vain, 
And  said :  "  Those  proud  Lindens  are  at  it  again  ; 
I've  tried  them  oft  with  my  strength  and  power, 
But  well  they  have  flourished  until  this  hour ; 
But  one  other  effort  I  will  make  soon 
To  bring  down  their  tall  pride  this  afternoon." 
With  that  he  rustled  his  terrible  wings, 
And  the  motion  shook  terrestrial  things  ; 


52  FALL    OF    THE    LINDENS. 

Church  steeples  trembled,  high  chimneys  came  down, 

And  the  racket  was  great  throughout  the  town  ; 

Large  trees  were  uplifted,  small  boats  unmoored, 

And  many  a  sign-board  quickly  floored  ; 

But  each  linden  laughed  in  frolicsome  glee, — 

"  I  defy  the  storm-king  to  injure  me." 

But  there  comes  a  sad  day,  alas !  to  all, 
When  the  pride  we  have  nursed  must  have  a  fall; 
And  the  stalwart  trees  felt  the  powerful  breath 
Of  one  who  could  deal  them  the  stroke  of  death. 
But  they  fought  him  well,  in  their  branches  tied 
They  hugged  him  so  tight  he  liked  to  have  died, 
And  they  did  not  yield  one  inch  of  the  ground 
Without  a  fierce  struggle  for  their  roots  sound, 
And  we  doubted  whether  it  might  not  be 
That  at  last  they  would  win  the  victory. 


FALL    OF    THE    LINDENS.  53 

They  knew  that  the  dreaded  old  monster's  might 

Ceased  often  upon  the  approach  of  night, 

And  longed  as  much  as  "the  Duke"  for  that  hour 

When  most  he  felt  Napoleon's  power. 

But  now  the  stern  contest  began  to  tell 

On  the  foremost  one  in  the  rank,  who  fell 

So  heavily  on  the  one  by  his  side 

That  he  in  turn  leaned  on  his  comrade  tried, 

And  when  once  that  serried  force  gave  way, 

The  storm-king  victorious  won  the  day. 

The  mocking  sun  rose  the  ensuing  morn 

On  a  place  all  desolate  and  forlorn  ; 

The  old  lindens  £rand,  in  their  might  laid  low, 

Nor  spared  to  us  even  an  apple-blow. 

But  gracefully  stood  the  orange-tree  there, 

Not  a  bud  despoiled  or  a  branch  laid  bare. 


THE  BLISSFUL  HOUR. 

'T*HEY  may  talk  of  the  blissful  general 

Whose  victory  now  has  been  won, 
Or  the  bliss  of  the  author  whose  volume 
Has  just  had  a  successful  run. 

Of  the  lover  who  has  long  been  sighing. 

And  obtained  his  very  first  kiss, — 
But  not  one  of  them  has  the  least  notion 

Of  the  highest  acme  of  buss. 

May  be  you  think  'tis  hearing  Parepa 

Or  some  other  nightingale  squall, 
54 


THE    BLISSFUL    HOUR.  55 

Or  driving  by  the  side  of  your  lover 
On  a  moonlight  night  to  a  ball. 

You  have  not  hit  it  yet,  I  can  tell  you, 
But  be  patient  and  you  shall  learn, 

And  I  know  full  well  when  you  have  heard  me 
That  all  other  bliss  you  will  spurn. 

You  have  been  asked,  of  course,  to  a  party,  — 

Well,  so  far,  the  thing  is  all  right, 
But  did  ever  the  "modiste"  insert  you 

In  a  dress  two  inches  too  tight  ? 

Did  they  screw  up  your  hair  from  the  forehead, 
And  then  stick  it  with  pins  so  fine, 

That  your  whole  head  appeared  to  resemble 
Most  an  inverted  porcupine. 


56  THE    BLISSFUL    HOUR. 

Were  your  feet  tightly  cased  in  "number  two?" 
Your  hands  squeezed  into  "number  six?" 

The  mirror,  to  tease,  a  reflection  cast 
That  your  colors  choice  failed  to  mix  ? 

Did  you  learn  from  your  kindly  hostess  soon 
That  the  one  you  hoped  to  have  met, 

And  the  only  one  you  cared  to  see, 
Had  that  moment  sent  a  regret  ? 

As  you  grieved,  did  the  bore,  Mr.  S — ,  come  near, 
And  glueing  himself  to  your  side 

Relate  that  old  tale  without  the  least  point, 
If  we  except  the  hero  died  ? 

And  did  you  think,  O,  if  he  were  that  man, 
What  a  world's  relief  it  would  be ; 


THE    BLISSFUL    HOUR. 

And  shake  him  off  to  find  yourself  caught 
By  that  odious  friend,  Miss  G.  ? 

Who  simpers  with  hate,  and  abuses  all 
Who  may  chance  to  be  bright  and  fair ; 

"  What  a  fright's  Miss  T.,  just  look  at  the  way 
That  Laura  Jones  frizzes  her  hair." 

If  this  were  all,  but  the  scandal  she  serves 

Is  such  an  unsavory  dish, 
I  am  sometimes  tempted  to  tell  her  plain, 

That  it  is  worse  than  "  ancient "  fish. 

In  the  supper-room  were  you  ever  crushed, 

And  have  a  deluge  of  ice  cream 
On  the  skirt  of  your  pet  light  satin  poured, 

And  your  smile  like  a  martyr's  seem  ? 
F 


58  THE    BLISSFUL    HOUR. 

Then  did  a  sad  partner  fall  to  your  lot 

Who  was  so  determined  to  go 
That  he  set  at  defiance  Time  and  Tune 

And  constantly  trod  on  your  toe  ? 

If  so,  the  bliss  you  can  well  understand, 

Which  now  I'm  about  to  explain, 
And  say  all  other  when  with  it  compared, 

Is  low,  profitless,  weak,  and  vain. 

It  is  to  be  safely  shut  in  your  room, 

Where  never  a  soul  dare  intrude, 
To  pull  down  your  hair,  remove  your  fine  clothes, 

And  the  pressure  of  steel  and  wood. 

A  wrapper  to  don,  and  tight  shoes  to  doff, 
That  you  may  place  your  elastic  feet 


THE    BLISSFUL    HOUR.  59 

In  slippers  it  may  be  of  number  four, 
•  But  comfortable,  warm,  and  neat. 

Then  to  seat  yourself  in  a  large  arm-chair, 

By  a  fire  so  cozy  and  bright, 
And  a  bliss  more  sensuous  than  I  can  paint 

Fills  your  soul  with  a  strange  delight. 

More  entrancing  by  far  than  De  Quincey 

E'er  knew  in  his  opium  dream, 
A  delicious  languor  enfolds  you, 

Every  thought  in  Lethe's  stream. 

No  keen  feeling  of  dissatisfaction, 

That  he,  she,  or  it,  is  not  there; 
No  dread  of  a  rival  outshining  you 

In  a  new  set  of  jewels  rare. 


6O  THE    BLISSFUL    HOUR. 

Not  even  a  wish  that  you  were  richer, 
Or  somebody  else  was  not  poor, 

But  a  happiness  calm  such  as  never 
In  any  state  long  can  endure. 

Such  a  perfect  sense  of  deliverance 
From  mental  and  physical  pain, 

Without  e'en  a  mosquito  to  bore  you, 
Is  worth  fighting  a  world  to  gain. 

And  now  every  hero  I  challenge, 
Whether  of  glory,  love,  or  fame, 

To  assert  in  their  most  triumphant  hour 
That  they  have  felt  the  bliss  I  name. 


VINCIT   QUI   PATITUR* 

[HE  CONQUERS  WHO  ENDURES.] 

TDRESS  boldly  onward  in  the  race, 

He  conquers  who  endures ; 

Foremost  in  battle  set  thy  face. 

He  conquers  who  endures. 

Be  not  cast  down  by  trials  long, 
He  conquers  who  endures  ; 

The  prize  is  given  to  the  strong, 
He  conquers  who  endures. 

»  The  De  Wolf  Motto. 

*F  6l 


62  VINCIT    QUI    PATITUR. 

Strive  to  win  riches,  fame,  and  love, 
He .  conquers  who  endures ; 

But  strive  far  more  for  joys  above, 
He  conquers  who  endures. 

Let  no  stain  on  your  honor  light, 
He  conquers  who  endures, 

And  keep  your  Christian  armor  bright, 
He  conquers  who  endures. 

Fight  Satan  with  your  weapons  keen, 
He  conquers  who  endures  ; 

On  none  but  Christ  the  Saviour  lean, 
He  conquers  who  endures. 

Boldly  defend  the  cause  of  right, 
He  conquers  who  endures, 


VINCIT    QUI    PATITUR.  63 

Make  others  stronger  by  thy  might, 
He  conquers  who  endures. 

Fear  not  to  give  for  truth  thy  life, 

He  conquers  who  endures, 
A  crown  for  him  who  wins  the  strife, 

He  conquers  who  endures. 


THE  TRUE  STORY  OF  LITTLE  RED 
RIDING  HOOD. 

\T  /TTHIN  a  rural  village  dwelt 

A  maiden  fair  and  good, 
Named  by  her  friends  in  sportive  jest, 
Their  sweet  "Red  Riding  Hood." 

A  crimson  cloak  she  often  wore, 

And  crimson  bonnet  too, 
With  cheek  and  lip  that  far  outvied 

Them  both  in  brilliant  hue. 

All  loved  her  for  her  pretty  ways, 

Freedom  from  sin  and  guile, 
64 


TRUE    STORY    OF    LITTLE    RED    RIDING    HOOD.  65 

Felt  any  favor  well  repaid, 
If  they  might  see  her  smile. 

A  maiden's  purity,  we're  told, 

Once  tamed  a  savage  beast, 
But  one  who  saw  our  little  maid, 

On  her  desired  to  feast. 

He  was  a  wolf  but  well  disguised 

In  clothing  of  a  lamb, 
His  cloak  of  soft,  warm,  glossy  wool, 

One  could  not  deem  a  sham. 

Often,  Red  Riding  Hood  he  met, 

Returning  from  a  walk  ; 
Would  hide  her  in  his  silky  cloak, 

And  have  a  nice  long  talk. 


66  TRUE    STORY    OF    LITTLE    RED    RIDING    HOOD. 

His  eyes  so  large  and  full  of  fire, 
The  gentle  girl  would  fright, 

Then  he  would  tell  her  they  were  made 
To  see  her  beauty  bright. 

His  nostrils  wide  were  to  inhale 
The  sweetness  of  her  breath, 

His  arms  to  clasp  her  fairy  form, 
And  wear  her  until  death.    . 

The  sole  wish  of  his  ear  to  drink 

The  music  of  her  voice, 
To  hear  those  gentle  winning  tones 

That  made  his  heart  rejoice. 

The  only  purpose  of  his  mouth 
To  bite  her  cherry  lip, 


TRUE    STORY    OF    LITTLE    RED    RIDING    HOOD.  6/ 

To  cull  its  sweetness  as  the  bees 
Honey  from  roses  sip. 

And  thus  he  won  her  maiden  heart, 

Without  a  dream  of  ill, 
The  soft  warm  cloak  wherein  she  lay 

Disguised  the  monster  still. 

One  day  he  met  her  in  a  wood, 

And  said  in  blandest  tone  : 
"  My  dearest  one,  why  are  you  here, 

Disconsolate  and  lone  ? " 

She  raised  to  his  her  blushing  face, 

And  said,  " '  Tis  hard  you  see, 
But  grandma's  sick  and  there  are  none 

To  wait  on  her  but  me. 


68     TRUE  STORY  OF  LITTLE  RED  RIDING  HOOD. 

She  lives  there,  just  below  the  hill, 

In  a  hut  worn  and  old, 
It's  very  poor  and  hardly  serves 

To  keep  out  rain  and  cold. 

"O,"  said  the  wolf,  "then  I  will  go 

And  comfort  the  old  dame, 
And  take  a  bag  of  silver  too, 

Though  she  knows  not  my  name. 

And  now  a  little  sport  we'll  have : 

Let  me  go  first,  then  you, 
And  the  old  lady  '11  laugh  to  find, 

I'm  not  her  grand  child  true. 

So  poor  Red  Riding  Hood  delayed, 
And  wandered  through  the  wood, 


TRUE    STORY    OF    LITTLE    RED    RIDING    HOOD.  69 

Plucking  each  rose  without  a  thought, 
Except  what  boded  good. 

Until  she  reached  her  grandma's  door, 

Now  must  my  story  end, 
Her  fate  perchance  the  same  as  all. 

Who  on  a  wolf  depend. 

» 

None  who  explored  that  hut  e'er  told 

What  shocking  sight  they  saw, 
But  they  inferred  the  victims  both, 

Glutted  the  monster's  maw. 

For  never  more  in  cottage  bower 

Was  Riding  Hood  e'er  seen, 
And  on  May  Day  no  maidens  danced 

Upon  the  village  green. 
G 


7O  TRUE    STORY    OF    LITTLE    RED    RIDING    HOOD. 

But  there  will  come  a  time  when  wohes 
Before  their  Judge  must  stand ; 

The  blood  of  all  "Red  Riding  Hoods" 
Required  at  their  hand. 


CHARITY. 

IV7'  IND  lady,  my  mother  is  sick  and  poor, 

And  we  cannot  keep  the  wolf  from  our  door, 
Ere  to-morrow  night  our  rent  will  be  due, 
And  the  landlord  stern  swears  then  he  will  sue, 
And  take  the  little  we  now  call  our  own, 
Leaving  us  homeless,  hungry,  and  alone." 
Thus  spake  a  young  girl,  one  bitter  cold  day, 
To  a  lady  walking  along  Broadway  : 
A  lady  so  dainty,  so  nice  and  fair, 
You  surely  must  deem  the  angel  was  there ; 
One  who  from  youth  had  served  Duty  and  God, 
Whose  feet  never  strayed  from  the  narrow  road, 

71 


72  CHARITY. 

Whom  all  men  esteemed,  praised,  honored,  and  blest. 

Beloved  by  parents,  by  sisters  caressed. 

She  carried  a  well-filled  purse  in  her  hand, 

And  paused,  as  if  fully  to  understand 

The  shivering  maiden's  sad  tale  of  woe, 

Ere  on  Duty's  path  she  hastened  to  go. 

"You  must  not  presume  that  all  in  the  street 

Will  give  to  each  beggar  they  chance  to  meet. 

You  may  be  one  who  from  virtue  has  swerved, 

And  faith  no  longer  be  placed  in  your  word. 

There  are  places  provided  for  such  as  you, 

I  must  give  to  poor  friendless  '  Timbuctoo  ; ' 

For  I  have  no  proof  of  the  tale  you  tell/' 

And  as  honey-dew  sweet  her  accents  fell 

On  her  listener's  ear,  but  in  her  heart 

They  deeper  pierced  than  a  poisoned  dart. 


CHARITY.  73 

A  blush  of  shame  crimsoned  her  honest  cheek 
As  with  quivering  voice  she  strove  to  speak. 
But  unfinished  the  words  died  in  the  air, 
Only  to  Heaven  arose  one  wild  prayer : 
That  she  and  her  mother  might  both  be  dead 
Ere  the  morning  sun  should  shine  on  their  bed. 

i 

A  woman  who  stood  quite  near  to  her  side, 

Had  witnessed  the  scene,  and  now  (as  she  cried, 

Those  great  tears  which  well  mi^ht  turn  us  to  stone, 

Were  we  suffered  oft  to  weep  them  alone,) 

Spoke  never  a  word  but  threw  in  her  lap 

A  purse  so  heavy  it  burst  with  a  snap, 

Scattering  round  her  the  glittering  gold 

Like  the  showers  on  "  Danae,"  famed  of  old  ; 

"Who  are  you?    An  angel,  —  from  Heaven  you  came! 

Stop  for  a  moment  and  tell  me  your  name ; 
*G 


74  CHARITY. 

Let  me  bless  you,  for  well  I  know  that  you 
Must  be  all  which  is  noble,  just,  and  true." 

"See  you  yon  broad  mansion  of  splendid  shame? 
Go  there  if  you  really  would  learn  my  name ; 
There  where  the  gay  and  the  profligate  meet, 
And  the  good  shake  off  the  dust  from  their  feet ; 
Where  the  wine  in  goblets  of  gold  is  poured, 
And  the  oath  with  the  ribald  song  is  heard, 
Where  Satan  seems  loose,  so  strong  is  his  sway, 
And  the  Decalogue's  trampled  on  each  day. 
There,  from  the  burning,  lascivious  lip, 
You  will  hear  my  name  as  the  wine  they  sip, 
Spoken  by  all  with  a  jest  or  a  sneer 
And  never  by  one  with  respect  or  fear ; 
Baptised  from  the  stagnant  fountain  of  guilt, 
Abandoned  by  God,  learn  more  if  thou  wilt. 


CHARITY.  75 

But  if  to  each  man  belongs  my  vile  name, 

My  money  is  ever  my  own  the  same ; 

Though  the  wages  of  sin,  it  is  as  good 

To  purchase  your  mother  clothes,  fire,  and  food, 

For  none  will  care,  when  they  see  its  bright  sheen, 

Whether  the  donor  was  soiled  or  clean. 

I  have  no  false  hope  that  the  One  above 

Will  look  on  the  deed  with  approving  love. 

Full  well  I  know  that  it  cannot  atone 

For  the  least  foul  sin  my  life  may  have  known  ; 

And  I  never  dare  mock  His  throne  with  prayer    « 

In  my  deadliest  hour  of  dark  despair ; 

But  having  myself  been  hungry  and  cold 

I  pitied  your  mother,  —  my  tale  is  told." 

She  left,  and  so  soon  was  lost  in  the  crowd 
She  missed  the  girl's  blessing,  sincere  not  loud, 


76  CHARITY. 

Who  instantly  rose  and  ran  to  her  home, 
For  fear  the  rapacious  landlord  might  come. 
As  soon  as  she  set  her  foot  on  the  stair, 
Spoke  that  her  mother  might  know  she  was  there, 
Then  placed  on  the  stand  the  gold  pieces  bright 
As  she  entered  the  room  with  a  heart  so  light. 
"  Why,  Mary,  my  child,  how  came  you  by  these  ? " 
"  Honestly,  mother."     Then  down  or  her  knees 
The  widow  sank,  humbly  praying  to  God, 
That  the  one  who  sent  to  her  poor  abode 
Means  for  their  comfort,  might  ever  be  blest 
With  health,  riches,  and  friends,  love,  joy,  and  rest. 
And  who  shall  say  that  the  lone  widow's  prayer, 
Thus  wafted  to  Heaven,  was  not  God's  care? 
That  His  Spirit  may  not  come,  like  a  dove, 
On  her  in  the  arms  of  unhallowed  love, 


CHARITY. 

» 

And  lead  her  worn,  weary,  passion-stained  soul 
To  Calvary's  cross  and  there  make  her  whole  ? 
Or  that  the  sad  "recording  angel's"  tear 
Shall  not  fall  on  her  page  and  wash  it  clear? 

Perchance  the  angel  of  Mercy  looked  down 
On  "  slumbering  innocence  "  with  a  frown,  — 
On  her  whose  life  to  Duty  was  given, 
Who  thought  it  the  only  road  to  heaven, 
Who  ne'er  a  generous  impulse  had  known, 
But  who  really  lived  for  herself  alone ; 
Who  fasted  in  Lent,  and  at  Easter  gave, 
And  thought  by  so  doing  her  soul  to  save. 
All  this  is  well,  but  there  is  something  more 
Required  ere  we  can  reach  Heaven's  door. 
God  gave  us  our  hearts  to  beat  and  to  feel, 
And  sympathy  sweet  that  must  not  congeal, 


78  CHARITY. 

We  have  no  right  to  pass  the  wretched  by, 

And  at  last  He  will  know  the  reason  why, 

"  Ye  have  passed  me  by,  nor  unclosed  your  hand, 

Ye  have  not  relieved  the  poor  in  your  land. 

No  orphan's  heart  have  you  ever  made  light, 

No  lone  captive  cheered  with  your  presence  bright. 

Worthy  or  not,  all  the  slight  was  to  me, 

Depart,  ye  accursed,  I  never  knew  ye." 

Give  when  you  may,  without  letting  "  I  could " 
Always  wait  for  the  heartless,  grim  "I  should." 


LIZZIE. 

RIGHT  as  a  brilliant  sunbeam, 

Beautiful  as  a  pearl, 
A  crystal  drop  from  fountain  pure, 
Is  my  pet  little  girl. 

Her  every  tone  is  music, 

And  falls  upon  my  ear, 
Sweet  as  the  song  by  seraphs  sung, 

The  throne  of  God  to  cheer. 

Her  dark  eyes  are  so  lovely, 

Her  every  movement  grace, 
79 


8O  LIZZIE. 


So  strangely  winning  are  her  ways, 
And  heaven  in  her  face. 

And  then  she  is  as  happy 

As  any  forest  bird, 
Chatting  and  playing  merrily, 

Never  a  naughty  word. 

O  may  God  spare  my  darling, 
My  jewel,  flower,  and  sun, 

To  fill  my  soul  with  light  until 
My  days  on  earth  are  done. 


TO    E .  B . 

/^\    FOR  a  world  where  things  might  be 
What  now -they  only  seem," 
Where  Claude  should  be  the  waking  hour, 
All  else  be  but  a  dream. 

And  Richelieu's  curse,  by  thee  pronounced, 

The  guilty  courtier's  awe  ; 
His  knowledge  force  the  feeble  king 

To  make  his  will  the  law. 

Where  Hamlet,  cruel  to  be  kind, 

Should  probe  his  mother's  heart, 
H  81 


82  TO    E .    B . 

Tearing  her  secret  from  its  folds, 
And  wrenching  it  apart. 

Where  Macbeth,  by  the  sisters  glozed, 

Should  rush  upon  his  doom ; 
Find  Macduff  not  of  woman  born, 

That  Birnam  wood  had  come. 

And  hump-backed  Richard,  with  sweet  words, 

Win  the  fair  Annie's  heart, 
Showing  the  weird,  strange,  dazzling  might 

Of  intellect  and  art. 

Where  the  reality  should  prove 

Young  Juliet's  dream  of  bliss, 
To  lie  in  Romeo's  arms,  and  feel 

Upon  her  lips  his  kiss. 


TO     E .    B .  83 

And  Benedick,  Beatrice  win, 

lago's  demon  spite 
Recoil  in  vengeance  on  himself, 

And  then  "put  out  the  light." 

Where  old  Sir  Giles  in  pain  should  writhe, 

Who  could  a  daughter's  shame 
Counsel,  if  so  she  were  to  win 

A  coronet  and  name. 

And  the  poor  Stranger,  weary,  worn, 

Heart-sick  of  all  in  life, 
Should  find,  then  pity  and  forgive, 

His  loving,  erring  wife. 

Where  the  brave  Brutus  should  avenge 
The  chaste  Lucretia's  death ; 


84  TO   E .     B . 

Reckless  Don  Caesar  find  a  wife, 
Life,  fortune,  in  a  breath. 

Where  guilty  Mortimer  should  quake 

Before  his  servant  true  ; 
Shylock  demand  his  pound  of  flesh  ;" 

Petruchio  tame  the  shrew. 

If,  as  philosophers  assert, 

Nothing  exists  but  you* 
The  real  world  may  be  the  false, 

The  mimic  one  the  true. 

And  who  shall  say  that  no  deep  truths 
Are  taught  upon  the  stage  ? 

That  a  great  actor  bears  no  part 
In  a  reforming  age  ? 

*  Meaning  one's  self. 


TO   E .     B .  85 

Is  there  no  sermon  in  the  fate 

Of  vengeance,  lust,  and  greed, 
When  they  who  thus  despise  God's  law, 

Are  left  in  sorest  need  ? 

All  characters  portrayed  by  thee 

Do  really  live  again, 
Not  merely  puppets  pulled  by  wires, 

But  individual  men. 

Each  word  of  thine  is  finely  cut, 

And  polished  as  a  gem  ; 
Each  gesture  suited  to  the  word, 

Each  action  so  like  them. 

Were  Claude  to  paint  my  bridal  home 

With  such  a  voice  and  eye, 
*H 


86  TO    E .     B . 

Then  ask  me  to  select  an  orb, 
In  which  to  dwell  on  high, 

I  fear,  alas,  that  I  might  choose 

One  bright  especial  star, 
Shining  so  near  me  in  the  crowd, 

So  near,  and  yet  so  far. 

Tis  said  the  magic  power  you  wield, 

Is  fatal  to  the  soul, 
A  syren  song  to  lure  us  on 

Beyond  our  self-control. 

But  if  it  be  dangerous  to  speak, 
And  look,  and  act  like  you, 

One  wish  comes  stealing  o'er  my  soul,- 
Would  I  were  dangerous  too. 


TO 


T  'VE  sat  up  late  many  a  night, 

At  balls  and  parties  gay  ; 
Have  danced  sometimes  till  broad  daylight, 

To  while  the  hours  away, 

At  theatre  and  concert  too, 

I've  flirted  with  the  beaux  ; 
Have  wept  when  sad,  and  laughed  when  gay, 

And  loved  perchance, — who  knows? 

And  oft  a  book  has  chained  me  fast 

Till  witching  hour  of  night, 
87 


88  TO . 

Or  charming  converse  of  a  friend 
Has  kept  my  spirits  bright. 

But  would  you  learn  my  darling  sport, 
Prized  more  than  fame  or  glory, 

It  is  when  seated  by  thy  side, 
We're  writing  glib  our  story. 

The  world  to  us  is  nothing  then, 
Comets  might  rise  and  set, 

Kings  be  dethroned,  and  empires  won, 
Calmly  we'd  write  on  yet. 

One  glance  from  those  cerulean  eyes, 

One  smile  upon  that  lip, 
And  the  Pierian  fount  is  reached, — 

Most  sweetly  can  I  sip. 


TO  .  89 

For  mind  on  mind  hath  woundrous  power, 

And  soul  awakens  soul, 
More  rapturous  and  inspiring  far 

Than  song  or  flowing  bowl. 

Well  might  the  courtier  reply, 

When  questioned  by  his  king, 
As  to  what  magic  arts  were  used 

To  win  his  heart  from  him. 

"  Forgive  my  boldness,  gracious  liege, 

I  am  bewitched,  I  own, 
By  the  same  beauty,  wit,  and  grace, 

Which  has  o'erturned  a  throne." 

Witches  of  old  were  gaunt  and  grey, — 
What  fools  our  grandsires  were  ; 


9O  TO  . 

If  they  had  burned  the  beautiful, 
They  had  been  wiser  far. 

The  serpent  knew  our  weakness  when 
He  came  in  lovely  guise  ; 

Age  never  could  have  tempted  Eve, 
She  still  had  closed  her  eyes. 

There  is  a  key  unlocks  each  heart, 
And  almost  owns  its  spell: 

A  dangerous  gift  perchance  to  those 
Who  fail  to  use  it  well. 

But  placed  within  thy  careful  hand, 
None  need  to  fear  its  power, 

Only  a  subtle  influence  felt 
To  charm  each  passing  hour. 


TO  .  91 

And  like  a  sunbeam  o'er  my  soul 

Thy  presence  brightly  steals, 
Waking  each  sense,  and  every  thought 

To  thy  quick  mind  reveals. 

And  when  our  story's  at  an  end, 

O,  may  we  often  meet, 
As  two  congenial  spirits  may, 

To  hold  rare  converse  sweet. 

And  never  may  war's  dread  alarm 

Summon  thee  from  my  side  ; 
Urge  thee  to  leave  thy  pleasant  home, 

And  stem  its  fiery  tide. 

Thy  absence  I  should  mourn  in  truth, — 
Do  not  thy  life  expose; 


92  TO  . 

Let  others  go  who'll  not  be  missed, 
To  fight  their  country's  foes. 

Good  folks  are  scarce,  and  bright  ones  too, 

So  stay  I  do  entreat; 
Be  like  Gamaliel  me  to  teach, 

While  seated  at  thy  feet. 

You  must  not  leave, —  it  cannot  be, — 

For  I  should  die  of  grief; 
So  change  your  mind,  and  with  us  stay, 

And  give  my  soul  relief. 

And  many  a  pleasant  plot  we'll  plan, 

And  many  a  hero  too, 
'Till  fame  shall  write  our  noble  names, 

With  th'  immortal  few. 


TO    ,    WITH    A    SUGAR    BOWL. 

S~^  OLD  to  the  rich,  and  sweets  to  those 
Who  'neath  the  honeymoon  repose ; 
"  To  him  that  hath  more  shall  be  given," 
Such  is  the  blessed  word  of  heaven. 

And  in  Life's  bark  it  must  be  sweet, 
Where  beauty,  youth,  and  virtue  meet, 
To  sail  beneath  the  summer  sun, 
Love,  captain,  pilot,  mate  in  one. 

May  adverse  gales  then  ne'er  arise 

To  dim  the  brightness  of  the  skies, 
I  93 


94  TO   ,    WITH   A   SUGAR   BOWL. 

Nor  shoals  or  quicksands  e'er  appear, 
To  warn  thee  from  the  harbor  near. 

May  Life's  vast  sugar  bowl  o'erflow 
With  every  sweet  that  mortals  know; 
And  may  the  gods  vouchsafe  to  lend 
Nectar,  ambrosia,  to  their  friend. 

And  should  you  ever  turn  to  sip 

The  honey-dew  from  favored  lip, 

May  no  sting  teach  you  that  there  grows 

A  thorn  beside  the  fairest  rose. 

And  when  you've  reached  the  blessed  shore 
Of  Hymen's  banks,  to  roam  no  more, 
And  like  the  wreath-crowned  queen  of  May, 
Life  seems  but  one  long  holiday, 


TO    ,     WITH    A    SUGAR    BOWL.  95 

Then  think  upon  thy  absent  friend, 
Who  a  slight  token  fain  would  send, 
Who,  as  the  sparkling  glasses  meet, 
Gives  for  her  toast,  "Sweets  to  the  sweet." 


TO  H.  H.  B . 

"~*HE  world's  gettin'  so  wise  now 
We  cant  b'lieve  nothin'  at  all ; 
They've  clean  wiped  out  creation, 
The  Serpent,  Garden,  and  Fall. 

They  tell  us  that  the  Deluge 

Was  but  a  busted  lake, 
It  wet  the  airth  a  little, 

But  no  great  fuss  did  make. 

The  Sphynx  never  had  no  riddle, 

The  Pyramids  are  a  sham, 
96 


TO   H.    H.    B .  97 

There  wan't  no  Tower  of  Babel, 
And  never  a  man  called  Ham. 

They  doubt  if  the  whale  swallowed  Jpnah, 
Or  if  Jonah  swallowed  the  whale ; 

And  say  there  wan't  no  Moses 
For  Is'rel  to  bewail. 

That  Joan  of  Arc  was  a  fizzle, 

John  Rogers  did'nt  roast, 
And  St.  Lawrence  on  the  gridiron 

Never  made  a  famous  toast. 

That  Tell  did  'nt  shoot  the  apple, 

George  Washington  would  lie, 
And  Methusaleh  was  ho  older 

Than  either  you  or  I. 
*l 


98  TO    H.    H.    B . 

They  doubt  if  Bluebeard  ever 
Killed  all  his  seven  wives ; 

If  the  Sun  moves  around  us, 
Or  if  cats  nave  nine  lives. 

They  say  David  wan't  no  model, 
King  Arthur  was  a  myth; 

There  wan't  no  "  Pokyhontas," 
Only  A-dam  Smith. 

That  Columbus  didn't  discover 
The  land  he  did  n't  name ; 

That  th'  Egyptians  knowed  on't, 
And  ancients  all  the  same. 

That  the  Catacombs  were  never 
Receptacles  for  the  dead ; 


TO    H.    H.    B .  99 

That  Michael  Angelo  didn't  paint 
"The  Last  Judgment"  on  his  head. 

That  Raphael's  Madonna 

Was  a  lady  of  ill  fame, 
And  that  it  wasn't  Grouchy 

Spoiled  Napoleon's  little  game. 

That  Richelieu  was  no  statesman, 

And  Croesus  was  'nt  rich ; 
And  the  valiant  South  wouldn't  fight  us 

Till  they  died  in  the  last  ditch. 

That  Grant  never  won  a  battle, 

And  McLellan  did  n't  know  how  ; 
Nor  John  Brown  to  make  Virginny  skedaddle, 

Before  seventeen  men  and  a  cow. 


IOO  TO    H.    H.    B . 

That  there  never  wan't  no  Homer, 
Shakspeare  wrote  nary  play ; 

That  Byron's  verse  is  dawdlin', 
And  must  yield  to  Thackeray. 

That  Tupper's  not  B  poet, 
John  Milton  not  sublime, 

And  Pope  wrote  his  famous  "  Essay " 
In  execrable  rhyme. 

That  Quintus  Curtius  never 

Jumped  into  a  hole, 
Cornelia  had  no  jewels, 

Mark  Antony  no  soul. 

That  there  wan't  no  chaste  Lucretia 
For  Brutus  to  defend, 


TO    H.    H.    B .  IOI 

And  that  his  brother  never 
Of  Caesar  made  an  end. 

That  there  is  nary  a  devil, 

And  Fisk  was  not  a  saint ; 
That  the  "Wandering  Jew"  aint  livin', 

And  Bismark's  course 's  a  feint. 

Now  in  all  these  things,  from  childhood, 

I've  believed  in  as  my  breath, 
And  to  have  them  rudely  shattered 

Is  worse  to  me  than  death. 

And  there 's  Darwin  now  that  tells  us, 
Our  great  grandfather  was  an  ape, 

And  they  can't  disprove  him  no  how 
By  dissection,  sermons,  or  tape. 


IO2  TO    H.    H.    B . 

Now  you  see  I  've  always  been  proud  of 
My  great  genealogical  tree, 

And  to  find  the  root's  so  shaky 
Is  a  very  sore  grief  to  me. 

But  three  things  yet  I  have  faith  in  : 
The  Lovely,  the  Good,  and  True, 

So  I  '11  e'en  take  refuge,  dear  cousin, 
In  myself,  "The  Bay  Fight,"  and  you. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MISS  SARAH  M.  B D. 

T3EFORE  the  eternal  throne  of  Gpd 

Grim  Death  in  silence  bent ; 
His  fleshless  hand  had  dropt  the  dart, 

Its  strength  for  once  was  spent. 

A  voice  that  none  might  disobey 

Recalled  his  absent  thought : 
"A  gem  is  wanting  for  the  crown, 
Which  with  my  blood  I  bought. 

Haste  thee  to  earth,  —  from  jewels  rare 
Select  the  brightest  one 


IO4    ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MISS  SARAH  M.  B D. 

To  shine  within  my  diadem 
Resplendent  as  the  sun." 

Death  seized  his  dart  and  hurried  on, 
The  world  was  reached  too  soon  ; 

He  paused  before  a  brilliant  hall, 
For  in  that  rich  saloon 

There  sat  a  maiden  young  and  fair, 

Hope  radiant  in  her  eye  ; 
Upon  her  cheek  the  blush  of  love, 

Her  heart  in  ecstasy, 

For  near  her  was  the  chosen  one 

Close  nestled  by  her  side ; 
A  few  short  moons,  and  he  might  claim 

His  own,  his  promised  bride. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MISS  SARAH  M.  B D.    IO5 

Beauty  and  wealth  and  friends  were  hers, — 

Why  should  the  spoiler  come  ? 
Why  desolate  that  happy  home  ? 

Why  call  her  to  the  tomb  ? 

Death  paused !  perchance  his  callous  heart 

A  ray  of  pity  moved : 
He  fain  would  spare  that  beauteous  one, 

So  fondly,  truly  loved. 

He  durst  not,  for  the  gem  was  found, 

The  circle  was  complete  ; 
Another  perfect,  peerless  one 

He  feared  he  might  not  meet. 

His  icy  fingers  touched  her  cheek, 

Blanched  were  the  roses  there  ; 
J 


IO6        ON    THE    DEATH    OF    MISS    SARAH    M.    B D. 

Upon  her  lips  he  set  his  seal, — 
Gone  was  the  perfume  rare. 

Parents  and  friends  and  lover  stood, 
And  watched  the  glazing  eye ; 

Their  forms  convulsed", —  their  voices  hushed 
In  speechless  agony, 

Until  the  mother  clasped  her  hands 

And  called  upon  her  God : 
"  Why  am  I  doomed  to  suffer  thus  ? 

Why  lay  on  me  thy  rod? 

Why  take  from  me  my  darling  child, 
So  young  and  fresh  and  pure, 

And  leave  the  weary  upon  earth 
Who  life  can  scarce  endure  ? 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MISS  SARAH  M.  B D.    IO/ 

To  many  worn  and  wretched  souls 

So  little  has  been  given, 
That  sweet  to  them  would  be  the  change 

From  earthly  woe  to  heaven." 

Peace,  mother !  for  the  Saviour  needs 

Thy  precious  one  above  ; 
Thy  jewel  glitters  in  his  crown 

Bought  with  his  priceless  love. 

Free  from  the  world's  polluting  touch, 

Untarnished  it  will  shine  ; 
O  trust  thy  treasure  in  His  care, — 

'  Tis  safer  than  in  thine. 

We  have  the  will,  but  not  the  power 
To  guard  our  cherished  store ; 


IO8    ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MISS  SARAH  M.  B D. 

For  Satan  lies  in  ambush  near, 
And  sin  is  at  the  door. 

The  road  is  broad,  and  many  snares 

Our  footsteps  lead  astray  ; 
And  if  we  tread  the  narrow  path, 

We  stumble  on  the  way. 

We  cannot  keep  ourselves  from  harm, — 
Our  treasures  share  our  fate ; 

Then  let  us  bless  Immanuel, 
Who  opes  the  heavenly  gate, 

And  wears  our  jewels  in  his  crown, 
For  none  are  missing  there  ; 

No  robber  steals,  nor  moth,  nor  rust 
Their  beauty  can  impair. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MISS  SARAH  M.  E D.    109 

And  at  the  last  great  day  may  we 

Among  them  find  a  place, 
And  worthy  deemed  by  God,  to  shine 

Around  the  throne  of  grace. 

*J 


DEATH   OF  THE  HEIR. 


as  a  fading  flower, 
E'en  from  thy  very  birth, 
I  feared  when  first  I  saw  thee,  babe, 
Thou  wert  not  long  for  earth. 

But  in  that  princely  palace 

Methought  Death  would  not  dare, 

To  watch  the  jeweled  cradle  bright, 
And  claim  the  infant  heir. 

Could  not  the  robe  of  ermine, 

The  costly,  rich  array, 
no 


DEATH    OF    THE     HEIR.  Ill 

The  laces,  gems,  and  roses,  scare 
The  spoiler  from  his  prey? 

No ;  vain  was  all  this  splendor, 

And  vain  the  mother's  sigh ; 
The  idol  must  be  broken  now, — 

Her  darling,  he  must  die. 

One  earnest  prayer  to  heaven, 

One  long,  loud  cry  of  pain, 
As  if  a  heart  were  breaking  too, 

And  all  is  still  again. 

Death  paused,  —  the  eye  grew  brighter, — 

He  did  not  send  his  dart ; 
That  fearful  cry  of  agony 

Had  pierced  his  callous  heart. 


112  DEATH    OF    THE     HEIR. 

He  passed  to  yon  lone  garret, — 
Nor  fire,  nor  food,  were  there, 

A  babe  lay  on  its  mother's  lap, 
Her  hands  were  clasped  in  prayer. 

"O  God,  have  mercy  on  me, 
In  pity  take  my  child  ; 

My  brain  is  maddened  fearfully, 
I  am  lonely,  wretched,  wild. 

I  have  no  food  to  give  him, 
And  Nature's  fount  is  dry ; 

I  cannot  see  him  suffer  long, 
But  I  can  see  him  die." 

Death  stood  a  moment  near  her, 
Then  raised  his  fleshless  hand, 


DEATH    OF    THE     HEIR.  113 

But  ere  it  fell  his  arm  was  stayed, — 
Stayed,  and  by  God's  command. 

"Why  didst  thou  leave  the  palace? 

Thy  mission  was  not  here. 
Hast  thou  forgot  my  mandate  stern? 

Hast  thou  no  cause  to  fear? 

* 

Leave  me  this  friendless  woman, 

'Tis  here  that  I  abide, 
And  tho'  she  deems  me  far  away, 

Am  ever  by  her  side. 

She  listened  to  a  traitor, 

Was  ruined  and  betrayed ; 
And  deeply,  darkly,  fell  the  curse 

On  her  devoted  head. 


114  DEATH    OF    THE     HEIR. 

All  who  dare  to  break  my  laws 

The  penalty  must  pay, 
But  I  will  listen  to  her  moans, 

And  wipe  her  tears  away. 

Her  mournful  wail  hath  reached  me, 
Her  sins  are  all  forgiven ; 

A  mother's  love  is  wafted,  pure 
As  incense,  unto  heaven. 

See  this  child,  his  cheek  is  pale, 
But  sure  his  form  is  fair, 

And  clustered  round  his  lovely  head, 
Are  ringlets  rich  and  rare. 

On  his  brow  I've  set  my  seal, 
God's  seal  of  genius  bright, 


DEATH    OF    THE     HEIR. 

And  soon  his  large  dark  eye  will  glow 
With  inspiration's  light. 

He  is  my  own,  my  chosen, 

I've  marked  him  from  his  birth, 

And  tho'  his  form  is  clothed  in  rags, 
He  is  of  priceless  worth. 

No  riches  will  I  give  him, 

But  beauty,  talent,  health, 
And  from  deep  mines  his  soul  will  gain 

Imperishable  wealth. 

The  great  and  gifted  must  not  die 

In  early  infancy; 
Never,  until  they  have  fulfilled 

Their  glorious  destiny. 


Il6  DEATH    OF    THE    HEIR. 

To  prove  that  even  now  in  man 
God's  image  is  not  lost, 

Tho'  oft  defaced,  and  scarce  perceived, 

» 

By  sin  and  Satan  tossed. 

But  in  my  chosen,  bright  it  shines, 
Safe  from  all  arrows  hurled, 

And  like  a  beacon  in  the  path, 
Illumes  a  fallen  world. 

Go ! "      Death  vanished  from  the  scene, 
To  question  who  may  dare, 

Why  the  poor  outcast  hath  been  spared, 
And  why  he  claimed  the  heir. 


CHARLIE. 

* 

A  N  angel  dropped  a  ray  of  light 
To  cheer  us  on  our  way, — 
Gladly  we  hailed  the  vision  bright, 
But  soon  it  sped  away. 

A  gem  was  ours, —  we  prized  it  well, 
And  wore  it  with  such  care, 

Valued  it  more  than  tongue  can  tell, 
When  lost  were  in  despair. 

Our  darling  boy,  —  the  gem,  the  ray, 

For  us  to  love  was  given, 
But  deemed  too  pure  on  earth  to  stay, 

Transported  back  to  heaven. 
K  117 


MARRIAGE    IN    A    PRISON. 

^  WAS  not  within  the  dazzling  hall, 
Amid  a  throng  of  friends  most  dear, 
And  smiling  relatives  around, 

The  heart  of  the  young  bride  to  cheer. 

'Twas  not  within  the  sacred  aisle, 

Before  the  altar  of  our  God, 
With  parents  and  with  sisters  near, 

The  bridegroom  and  the  fair  one  stood. 

Where?  dost  thou  ask! — Where,  then,  were  they 

United  in  Love's  holiest  tie? 
118 


MARRIAGE    IN    A    PRISON.  I  1 9 

Where  sealed  that  rite  to  mortal  given 
By  Him,  the  Ruler  up  on  high  ? 

'Twas  in  a  dungeon  dark  and  drear, 

• 

With  naught  to  dissipate  its  gloom, 
With  nothing  genial  to  efface 
The  horrors  of  that  living  tomb! 

The  man  of  God  in  silence  stood, 
His  eyes  were  raised  as  if  in  prayer, 

And  by  his  side  two  forms,  as  still 
As  death,  —  they  were  the  bridal  pair ! 

One  was  a  youth  of  noble  mien, 

Ill-fitted  for  so  vile  a  place, 
And  on  his  brow  a  loftiness 

That  prison-walls  could  not  efface. 


I2O  "MARRIAGE   IN   A   PRISON. 

His  hands  were  clasped,  his  lips  compressed,  - 
He  wore  the  calmness  of  despair ; 

He  looked  as  though  his  doom  was  sealed, — 
That  he  had  outlived  hope  and  fear, 

Excepting  when  he  glanced  at  her, 
That  fair  young  being  by  his  side, 

Then  agonizing  was  his  gaze, — 
It  seemed  as  if  his  spirit  died. 

And  she  was  pale,  but  beautiful 

As  when,  in  those  bright  hours  of  yore, 

He  revelled  in  her  many  charms, 
And  Hope  her  smile  of  pleasure  wore. 

A  solemn  stillness  reigned  throughout, 
You  might  have  heard  each  beating  heart, 


MARRIAGE    IN    A    PRISON.  121 

'Till  broken  by  the  preacher's  voice : 

"Wilt  thou  love  her  'till  death  do  part?" 

It  seemed  a  strange,  unearthly  sound 
To  him  to  whom  it  was  addressed ; 

His  eye  was  fixed,  and  oh !  upon 
What  dreadful  object  did  it  rest ! 

A  scaffold  near  the  casement  stood!  — 
'Twas  there,  oh  God!  that  he  might  see 

That,  although  innocent  of  crime, 
A  sufferer  he  was  doomed  to  be. 

He  answered  not,  nor  bowed  assent, 

But  pressed  that  fair  girl  to  his  breast, 
As  when  in  days  of  happiness 

She  knew  it  as  her  place  of  rest. 
*K 


122  MARRIAGE   IN   A   PRISON. 

The  blessing  the  then  priest  pronounced, 
And  left  them,  for  a  last  farewell 

They  wished  to  take  alone,  unseen 
By  any  in  that  gloomy  cell! 

Oh,  what  can  woman's  love  efface  ? — 
Not  dungeon,  scaffold,  chains,  nor  death ; 

She  clings  but  with  a  firmer  hold, — 
She  loves  until  her  latest  breath. 

She  loved  him  when  he  was  esteemed 
And  honored  by  his  fellow  men; 

And  now  her  soul  still  turns  to  him, — 
Though  all  forsake,  she  '11  not  condemn ! 


BILL   BUNTIN. 

«. 
*  X/ES,  Warden,  tell  you  I  'm  guilty, 

For  there's  no  use  in  shammin'  now; 
I  struck  the  man  with  a  hatchet 
Along  here,  —  right  over  the  brow. 

But  I  didn't  mean  to  kill  him, 
And  I  'm  glad  that  he  did  n't  die ; 

An'  the  gal, —  we  never  tetched  her, 
An'  if  she  says  so,  'tis  a  lie. 

Now,  you  see,  my  pal  he  wanted 

For  to  do  the  hull  thing  up  brown, 
123 


124  BILL    BUNTIN. 

To  choke  the  gal  an'  to  take  her 
With  us  away  out  of  the  town. 

But  I  'm  consid'rable  soft  now 
On  the  wimmin,  coz  how  you  see 

I  thinks  on  one  called  Sary  Ann 
Who  tuk  a  great  likin'  to  me. 

So  I  said,  '  No,  let  us  leave  her, 
And  try  our  best  to  get  away 

And  jine  the  ship,  lest  they  cotch  us 
If  we  long  in  the  country  stay.' 

And  then  that  little  she-devil 

Began  yellin'  just  like  she's  mad, 

And  so  the  perlice  they  'nabbed  us, 
And  that  was  too  thunderin'  bad. 


BILL    BUNTIN.  125 

I  got  a  chap  to  defend  me 

Who  said  that  he  could  get  me  clear, 
But  ( twixt  us )  think  he  succeeded 

Far  better  in  gettin'  me  here. 

He  told  me  that  an  "a-lie-by" 

Would  be  the  fust  thing  he  must  prove ; 
And  faith,  he  told  enuff  on  'em 

The  hull  heavens  and  airth  to  move. 

He  got  a  feller  to  swear,  sir, 

On  the  book,  straight  up  hill  and  down, 
That  he  was  a  walkin'  with  me 

That  night  in  a  far  Western  town. 

A  place  he'd  never  been  into, 

Nor  heerd  of,  not  since  he  was  born, 


126  BILL    BUNTIN. 

And  so  knowed  no  more  about  it 
Than  a  darkey  a-grindin'  corn. 

And  when  they  began  to  bother 
And  asked  what  train  he  tuk  that  night, 

He  riggled  wus  than  Aunt  Sue's  eels 
When  the  skin  is  cleaned  off  'em  quite. 

And  the  tother  one  cross  questioned 
'Till  he  was  almost  off  his  feet, 

And  looked  'bout  as  flat  and  sheepish 
As  a  young  monkey  just  been  beat. 

Then  my  lawyer  made  a  flourish, 
And  said,  '  Look  where  my  client  stands ! 

Did  ye  ever  see  a  finer  face  ? 
Think  you  blood  can  imbrue  those  hands  ? 


BILL    BUNTIN.  I2/ 

O  gentlemen,  I  remember 

When  he  was  an  innocent  child, 
And  his  mother  a  sweet  creature 

With  her  dark  eyes  so  soft  and  mild. 

» 
They  lived  in  a  pleasant  cottage 

O'ergrown  with  '  some  kind  of  stuff/ 
With  roses  and  lilies  bloomin', 
And  this  world  was  heaven  enuff. 

And  the  mother  would  take  her  boy 

By  the  side  of  his  snowy  bed, 
And  invoke  the  Heavenly  Father 

To  shower  blessings  on  his  head. 

Then  the  husband  he  would  enter, 
And  show  the  money  he  had  made, 


128  BILL    BUNTIN. 

And  tell  how  hard  he  had  striven 
To  grow  rich  in  an  honest  trade.' 

A  pretty  pictur,  but  bless  you, 
A  lie  from  beginning  to  end. 

We  lived  in  a  rick'ty  ten'ment, 

And  don't  believe  God  was  our  friend. 

Mother  was  allus  a  yellin', 

And  we  slept  on  a  dirty  bunk, 

And  all  the  black  eyes  I  seed'n  her 
Father  gin  her  when  he  was  drunk. 

But  sometimes  he  wud  be  pleasant 
And  hand  me  a  penny  or  two ; 

But  she  never  gave  me  nothin' 
But  a  taste  of  her  leather  shoe. 


BILL   BUNTIN.  129 

Now  the  judge  he  was  a  cute  un, 

And  he  knowed  well  this  was  all  bosh, 

And  often  looked  as  he  wanted 
To  tell  the  flat  feller  to  hush. 

But  he  said  'the  eloquent  counsel 
Has  now  spoken  and  at  full  length, 

But  the  fault  of  his  arg'ment  is 

It  has  more  of  beauty  than  strength. 

Then  he  up  and  charged  the  jury 
In  such  a  bold,  common  sense  way, 

That  they  brought  the  verdict  'Guilty/ 
After  a  mighty  short  delay. 

And  then  the  old  judge  he  laid  me 

Under  a  heavy  prison  ban, 
L 


I3O  BILL    BUNTIN. 

But  reckon  p'raps  I  desarved  it 
Just  as  much  as  another  man. 

But  if  Sary  Ann  should  murder, 

And  I  knowed  I  could  get  her  clear 

By  tellin'  such  a  pack  o'  lies, 
There's  a  somethin'  wud  stop  me  here. 

Darn  me!  I  find  it  easier 

Far,  for  to  strike  a  man  a  blow, 

Than  when  my  answer  should  be  'Yes; 
To  just  'straight  forred'  tell  him  'No.' 

I  like  you,  Warden,  you  are  frank, 

Know  how  to  treat  men  on  the  square, 

And  feel  that  you  will  do  by  me 

What  you  think  to  be  right  and  fair. 


BILL    BUNTIN. 

And  there's  one  favor  I  wud  ask, 
If  ever  Sary  Ann  should  come 

And  wish  to  see  Bill  Buntin  here, 
Please  to  say  he  is  not  at  home. 

That  never  in  your  hotel  books 
Has  he  once  registered  his  name, 

For  how  should  she  know  'Thirty-two' 
Stands  for  Bill  Buntin  all  the  same? 

But  when  my  boardin'  time  is  up, 
And  I  no  longer  need  your  care, 

I  '11  find  a  room  with  key  inside, 

And  she  that  room  with  me  shall  share. 

On  Sundays  I  would  like  to  have 
'  The  New  Testament '  in  my  cell, 


132  BILL   BUNTIN. 

I  hate  to  hear  the  chaplin  preach 
Sendin'  all  the  bad  folks  to  hell. 

May  be  we'll  get  there  fast  enuff, 
Do  n't  want  him  to  give  us  a  lift, 

And  if  I  die  I  '11  take  my  chance 
To  go  along  without  his  shrift. 

And  now  good  night,  —  1 11  go  to  bed 
And  try  hard  to  get  some  sleep, 

So  I  can  dream  of  Sary  Ann, 

And  there 's  a  vow  I  've  made  I  '11  keep. 


A    BURLESQUE. 

/^"*  KEEN  and  damp  is  the  church  on  the  heath, 

Greener  and  damper  the  people  beneath ; 

The  long  grass  is  twisted  in  knots  so  fine 

That  CEdipus'  foot  might  ne'er  untwine. 

The  slimy  pond's  fed  by  a  vanished  stream, 

And  over  it  sadly  the  moonbeams  gleam : 

A  dismal  swamp,  as  if  Medean  car 

Had  foundered  there  in  days  afar; 

And  Proserpine's  hand  might  well  disdain 

To  cull  from  it  the  golden  grain. 

The  satyrs  romped  in  wildest  glee, 

And  there  were  seen  the  "  Fatal  Three." 
*L  133 


134  A    BURLESQUE. 

Pegasus  here  might  safely  ride, 
And  the  Arcadian  stag  be  tied. 

But  hark!  a  scream  and  a  whistle, 

What  fearful  sound  rushes  through  the  thistle, 

A  snorting  and  tearing, 

Bellowing  and  bearing, 
As  if  all  Cretan  bulls  were  let  loose  ? 

And  what  is  the  monster 

With  its  eyes  shining, 
Its  head  of  brass,  and  coat  of  mail, 

Feet  of  dragon, 

And  fiery  tail, 

The  megatherium  and  ichthyosaurus  combined? 
A  creature  made  of  a  fearful  kind, 
Like  to  the  one  by  prophet  seen 

Before  on  earth  it  had  ever  been  ; 

t 


A    BURLESQUE.  135 

Prophetic  of  the  day  of  doom, 
Pushing  its  millions  to  the  tomb. 

Sudden  a  shriek !  and  what  is  there  ? 
Jove's  lightning,  thunder,  and  despair ! 
Infants  frying,  strong  men  dying, 
Mothers  crying,  sparks  a-flying, 
Splinters  crashing,  water  splashing, 
Maidens  dashing,  iron  clashing, 
Horses  prancing,  conductors  dancing, 
Red  lights  glancing,  surgeons  lancing, 
Brakemen  screaming,  colors  gleaming, 
Blood  a-streaming,  vapor  steaming, 
Ropes  a-flinging,  wounded  bringing. 
There  never  was  heard  such  an  infernal  din 
Since  the  gates  of  Hell  were  opened  by  Sin 
To  let  Satan  out  and  mortals  in : 


136  A    BURLESQUE. 

And  the  bones  that  were  ground  to  bread 
Might  have  fed  the  insolvent  dead. 

There  stood  upon  a  bank 

A  woman  lean  and  lank, 
Her  long  hair  loosened  from  its  hold 
Like  Medusa's  snakes  in  slimy  fold. 

Can  it  be  that  her  hand 

In  Christian  land, 
That  suckling  mite  securely  bound 
With  hemp,  and  fastened  to  the  ground? 
Ay!  for  in  woman's  darkest  hour 
No  tract  was  brought  with  cheering  power, 
So  she  made  for  the  track  of  shining  steel, 
That  she  might  with  her  burden  darkly  kneel. 
Like  Antigone's  her  sacrifice : 


A    BURLESQUE.  137 

A  black  face  now  is  peering  round 

With  inky  cloak  trailing  to  the  ground, 

Sudden  a  start,  —  a  fearful  yell! 

Like  a  "  South  Sea  bubble "  the  waters  swell. 

The  Tritons  make  merry  with  Undine  there, 

And  the  mermaids  comb  their  long  locks  in  despair. 


CRITICISM. 

~\TOW  isn't  it  provoking, 
When  one  tries  to  write  his  best, 

To  have  the  critics  tell  him 

• 

That  it  will  not  stand  the  test  ? 

That  pentameters  are  wanting, 
And  hexameters  won't  do, 

No  iambus  in  the  metre, 
And  the  syllables  too  few  ? 

That  the  trochees  are  at  variance, 

And  the  verses  will  not  scan, 
And  I  don't  know  how  to  do  it 

Except,  it  may  be,  a  man. 
138 


CRITICISM.  1 39 


That  the  metaphors  are  jumbled, 
The  hyperboles  obscure, 

The  verbs  no  antecedents, 
The  rhetoric  not  pure. 

And  so  they  prune  and  clip  it, 
'Till  it's  like  a  shaven  lawn, 

All  nicely  smooth  and  level, 
But  every  flower  gone. 

And  thus  they  haul  it  over, 
And  say  "  It  is  faultless  now," 

And  so  is  milk  and  water, 

But  blamed  tasteless,  too,  I  vow. 

You  wonder  what's  the  matter, 
Why  it  has  lost  its  vim; 


I4O  CRITICISM. 

But  think,  as  it  is  perfect, 

That  it  must  be  all  your  whim. 

And  when  folks  come  to  read  it, 
They  quietly  lay  it  down ; 

You  see  not  on  their  faces 
Either  a  smile  or  a  frown. 

And  if  to  Holmes  you  should  take  it 
And  ask  why  it  was  so  flat, 

He'd  tell  you  as  West,  the  artist, 
It  decidedly  wanted  "That." 

"That"  means  the  fire  of  genius, 
The  power  to  make  men  feel, 

The  very  thing,  when  in  the  rough, 
That  the  critics  from  you  steal. 


CRITICISM.  141 

I  think  it  best,  in  writing, 

If  we  have  a  thing  to  say, 
To  let  the  words  come  bubbling 

Forth,  in  their  own  odd  bright  way. 

Say  something  to  make  men  laugh, 
Or  something  to  make  them  cry; 

And  if  there's  a  hitch  in  the  metre, 
You  can  right  it  by  and  by. 

We  cannot  write  like  Milton 

If  we  have  not  got  his  head ; 
Our  Satan  would  be  sappy, 

And  our  tree  of  knowledge  dead. 

But  we  may  state  an  idea 

In  language  clever  and  strong, 
II 


142  CRITICISM. 

Fit  for  a  parson's  sermon, 
Or  a  boy  to  holler  along. 

For  a  line  well  outspoken, 
Which  a  simple  truth  contains, 

A  volume  of  mere  verse  outweighs, 
For  we  hear  the  ring  of  brains. 

And  like  the  perfume  of  a  flower, 
The  rare  sweetness  of  a  tone, 

The  magic  touch  on  canvas  felt, 
All  the  beauty  is  its  own. 

Fresh  from  the  Deity  it  came, 
We  trace  its  heavenly  birth, 

And  as  a  dew-drop  will  not 
Cease  to  purify  the  earth. 


THE    RAILROAD    KING. 

TT  is  fine  to  be  an  emperor, 
Or  lord  of  a  fleet  to  range, 
It  is  great  to  be  head  of  an  army, 
But  grand  to  be  "King  on  Change." 

It  is  plucky,  when  one  is  able, 
To  get  'twixt  the  lion's  jaws, 

But  pluckier  far  to  "bully  bears," 
And  then  pull  out  their  claws. 

To  fight  the  savage  creatures  up, 

And  pull  the  fierce  bulls  down  ;  — 
us 


144  THE    RAILROAD    RING. 

O !  I  had  rather  do  it 

Than  wear  Victoria's  crown. 

It  shows  what  skill  and  foresight 
And  industry  can  do, 

Combined  with  an  unerring  aim, 
And  perseverance  too. 

The  world  looks  on  with  wonder 
To  see  the  mighty  thing, 

And  Young  America's  proud 
Of  her  great  "  Railroad  King." 

We  have  one  bright  example 
The  feeble  to  sustain, 

And  only  one,  that  daring 
May  not  presume  in  vain. 


KINGS    OF    ENGLAND* 

r  I  SEN  sixty-six  brought  conquering  Willy, 

Ten  eighty-seven  his  Rufus  Billy, 

(In-  whose  reign  first  Peter  the  Hermit 

Preached  the  Crusades  without  a  permit.) 

His  brother  Hal,  who  loved  his  ease, 

In  eleven  hundred  king  we  see ; 

But  eating  once  too  many  eels, 

In  thirty-five  he  ceased  to  be. 

Then  from  France  came  Stephen  Blois, 

Who  held  the  throne  till  fifty-four ; 


*  Written  from  memory  of  a  similar  piece  read  many  years  ago  in  an  old  newspaper. 
*M  145 


146  KINGS     OF     ENGLAND. 

From  fifty-four  till  eighty-nine, 
Great  Second  Hal,  the  crown  was  thine ; 
Then  Richard  First,  named  Cceur  de  Lion, 
Till  ninety-nine  the  throne  we  see  on ; 
And  John,  ere  twelve-sixteen,  did  sell 
The  crown  that  did  not  suit  him  well. 
From  twelve-sixteen  till  seventy-two 
To  Harry  Third  the  crown  was  given, 
When  Edward  Long-shanks,  the  king, 
Began  and  reigned  till  thirteen-seven. 
For  twenty  years  Ned  Second  ruled  ; 
The  Third  for  fifty  held  the  sway  ; 
From  seventy-seven  till  ninety-nine 
The  Second  "Dickey"  had  his  day. 
Then  comes  the  Red  Rose  from  the  North, 
Who  ruled  till  thirteen,  Harry  Fourth. 


KINGS      OF      ENGLAND.  147 

The  Fifth  for  nine  years  held  the  throne, 

The  Sixth  Hal  died  in  sixty-one. 

York's  snowy  Rose,  Fourth  Ned  was  tombed, 

In  eighty-three,  the  Fifth  scarce  bloomed, 

When  Richard  Third,  the  monster  grim, 

Snapped  off  the  rosebud's  tender  stem. 

But  Harry  Seven,  in  eighty-five, 

Proved  for  poor  Richard  quite  too  tricky, 

For  in  the  fight  on  Bosworth  Field 

He  sadly  mangled  England's  Dickey. 

In  fifteen-nine  came  Sturdy  Harry, 

And  six  gay  wives  soon  asked  to  marry ; 

From  forty-seven  Sixth  Edward's  life 

Was  six  short  years  without  one  wife. 

Red  Mary  next,  who  loved  the  groans 

Of  those  who  shriek  on  Romish  pyres, 


148  KINGS     OF     ENGLAND. 

The  first  who  ruled  in  petticoats, 

The  last  that  stifled  human  throats 

With  blood  extinguished  fires. 

Alas !  for  the  sad  day  when  she 

Began  her  reign  in  fifty-three. 

In  fifty-eight  rose  bright  Queen  Bess 

In  all  her  starry  loveliness, 

And  shone  in  fair  virginity 

Until  she  set  in  sixteen-three. 

Then  James  the  First  did  Scotland  give 

Who  held  the  throne  till  twenty-five, 

When  his  son  Charles  began  so  fine, 

But  lost  his  head  in  forty-nine, 

And  Mr.  Cromwell,  by  sheer  stealth, 

Governed  the  people  a  Commonwealth, 

Till  Charles  the  Second,  merry  king, 

From  sixty  till  eighty-five 


KINGS      OF      ENGLAND.  J4Q 

Held  fast  the  reins  of  government, 

And  kept  the  people  all  alive. 

The  Second  James,  an  addle  pate, 

Fell  from  the  throne  in  eighty-eight ; 

And  Orange  Will,  in  two-seventeen, 

Made  way  for  Ann,  twelve  years  a  queen. 

For  thirteen  years  reigned  Georgius  One, 

(Though  the  Pretender  sought  the  throne  ;) 

Till  seventeen-sixty  George  the  Second, 

When   George  the  Third   mounted   the  throne   on 

which  he  sate 

For  sixty  long,  long  years  of  state. 
In   eighteen-twenty    George   the    Fourth   began    a 

ten  years'  reign. 

Fourth  William  reigned  seven  years, 
Then  turned  to  dust  again  ; 


I5O  KINGS      OF     ENGLAND. 

In  thirty-seven  Victoria 
Took  up  the  sceptre  where  it  fell. 
O  may  she  reign  without  a  war 
And  govern  all  her  subjects  well. 


NEITHER   DO    I    CONDEMN   THEE:  GO  AND 
SIN    NO    MORE." 

TT  7EARY  and  worn  the  Saviour  went, 

Upon  a  noted  day, 
Unto  a  sacred  mount  where  oft 

Retired  he  to  pray. 

What  means  that  bustling,  anxious  crowd? 

Whom  do  they  bring  along? 
Taunted  by  bitter  jibes  and  jeers, 

By  obscene  word  and  song. 

A  wretched  woman,  gazing  round, 
In  agonized  surprise, 


"NEITHER    DO    I    CONDEMN    THEE. 

But  not  one  look  of  sympathy 
From  all  those  cruel  eyes. 

And  yet  her  form  would  speak  her  one 

Nurtured  in  happy  home. 
What  force  compels  her,  in  this  guise, 

The  city  streets  to  roam? 

Is  there  not  one  of  all  she  loved 

To  stay  their  fierce  desire  ? 
Why  are  her  fortune,  fame,  and  dress, 

Like  trailing  in  the  mire? 

The  Tyrian  scarf  so  rudely  torn, 
She  may  have  worn  a  bride, 

And  on  her  now  bare  bleeding  feet 
The  jewelled  sandals  tied. 


"NEITHER  DO  i  CONDEMN  THEE.  153 

A  costly  veil  perchance  was  thrown 

Over  her  lovely  head 
To  hide  her  beauty,  and  her  ear 

By  love  notes  sweetly  fed. 

And  as  they  near  the  place  where  sits 

He,  their  rejected  king, 
Their  voices  in  brutal  tones 

Through  heaven's  high  arches  ring. 

This  woman  whom  we  bring  to  thee 

Is  stained  by  foulest  sin, 
Her  shameless  act  proclaims  her  all 

Corrupt,  without,  within. 

Moses  commanded  in  the  law 
That  all  such  outcasts  be 

N 


154  "NEITHER  DO  i  CONDEMN  THEE. 

Stoned  even  unto  very  death ; 
But,  Master,  what  say  ye  ? 

Then  Jesus  paused  a  man  to  find, 
Who  God's  law  had  not  broke, 

A  lesson  I  will  teach  them  now, 
And  thus  he  calmly  spoke, 

"  If  there  is  one  among  you  all 
Of  pure  and  blameless  life, 

True  to  his  God,  himself,  and  friend, 
As  well  as  to  his  wife, 

Let  him  take  up  the  largest  stone 

Within  this  rocky  bed, 
And  hurl  it  with  what  force  he  may, 

At  her  defenceless  head." 


"NEITHER    DO    I    CONDEMN    THEE."  1 55 

Then  quietly  he  turned  away, 

And  wrote  upon  the  ground  ; 
When  next  he  raised  his  eyes,  not  one 

Of  all  those  men  he  found, 

Only  the  woman  standing  there, 

Preferring  that  a  stone 
Should  crush  her  senseless  to  the  earth, 

Than  Christ  to  meet  alone. 

Gently  he  moves  him  to  her  side, 

« 
Takes  her  resistless  hand, 

Raises  to  his  her  streaming  eyes, 
And  says  in  accents  bland, 

"To  cast  the  first  stone  at  thee,  found 
'Mong  thine  accusers  none?" 


156  "NEITHER  DO  i  CONDEMN  THEE." 

In  accents  mournful  she  replied, 
"  My  Lord,  not  even  one." 

And  prostrate,  grovelled  at  his  feet 

t 

As  he  addressed  her  then, 
"God's  mercy  may  extend  to  all, 
Neither  do  I  condemn. 

I  pardon  thee,  but  not  thy  sin, 
For  that  thou  must  atone, 

Thy  sullied  purity  be  cleansed, 
Not  by  a  blow  of  stone. 

Before  me  is  outspread  thy  life, 
And  all  the  anguished  past : 

The  struggle,  and  the  lure  by  which 
The  tempter  won  at  last. 


"NEITHER  DO  i  CONDEMN  THEE."  157 

I  know  thy  weakness  and  his  strength, 

For  I  have  felt  his  power, 
And  might,  but  for  my  Father's  aid, 

Have  yielded  in  that  hour. 

Should  he  once  more  with  glozing  tongue 

Thy  spirit  dare  assail, 
If  on  me  heavily  you  lean, 

I  tell  thee  he  must  fail. 

But  if  he  then  the  victor  be, 

Sure  barred  is  Heaven's  door, 
Obey  my  first  and  last  command, 

'Go  thou  and  sin  no  more.'" 

*N 


SATAN'S    ADVICE. 

/'~>\LD  Satan  one  day  was  quite  ill  at  ease ; 
Very  hard  his  Majesty  was  to  please, 
For  he  had  wandered  full  many  an  hour, 
Vainly  seeking  one  whom  he  might  devour; 
At  last  he  chanced  on  a  simpering  dame, 
All  unknown  to  him  except  by  her  fame, 
And  he  chuckled  and  said :  "  I  Ve  found  a  soul 
Over  whom  I  can  have  supreme  control;" 
And  snugly  then  he  ensconced  himself  there, 
Just  as  she  arose  from  her  knees  in  prayer. 

Her  dear  father  died  on  that  very  day, 

And  folks  whispered — but  what,  I  will  not  say; 

158 


SATAN'S  ADVICE.  159 

But  this  I  do  know:  from  that  very  hour 
The  Devil  o'er  her  had  the  fullest  power. 
First  of  all,  he  espied  a  shrinking  girl, 
Fragile  and  modest  and  pure  as  pearl, 
The  loved  ward  of  him  who  now  was  no  more, 
Whom  the  leech's  craft  was  vain  to  restore, 
Who  was  wont  to  call  her  his  joy  and  pride, 
None  dearer  to  him  in  the  world  beside; 
Whose  hand,  cold  in  death,  was  powerless  now 
To  wipe  the  sad  tears  from  her  fair  young  brow, 
Or  shield  her  from  one  who,  with  fiendish  art, 
Was  trying  all  means  to  break  her  young  heart. 

Soon  as  Satan  saw  her,  so  pale  and  still, 

He  said  to  his  friend:  'Now,  dear,  for  the  Will, — 

Be  led  by  me,  and  I  will  clutch  for  you 

What  the  law  will  allow,  and  far  more  too. 


160  SATAN'S  ADVICE. 

Yourself  shall  inherit,  all  shall  be  thine ; 
Your  dear  father's  will,  what  is  it  to  mine? 
You  hate  that  young  girl,  you  hate  all  the  name; 
Your  feelings  and  mine  are  about  the  same. 
They  serve  me  in  part,  but  you  are  my  own, 
Both  body  and  soul,  flesh,  sinew,  and  bone. 
We  can  fool  some  people  —  they  will  not  dream' 
That  you  can  be  other  than  what  you  seem; 
When  we  have  robbed  the  ward  of  her  just  due, 
We  will  smile  and  pray,  and  build  houses  new. 
The  sacred  cup  we  will  place  to  our  lip, 
And  drink  damnation  at  every  sip; 
And  as  we  pass  down  the  broad  solemn  aisle 
We  will  stop  and  chat,  bow,  simper,  and  smile. 
A  few,  perhaps,  will  start  back  with  affright, 
For,  seeing  through  pure  and  heavenly  light, 


SATAN'S  ADVICE.  161 

My  snaky  form  they  may  chance  to  descry 

Hidden  deep  in  the  cell  of  thy  dark  eye, 

Or  gracefully  coiled  in  thy  jaunty  cap 

The  knowing  may  find  me  taking  a  nap ; 

On  thy  lips  may  revel  in  thoughtless  glee, 

'Till  some  one  exclaims:  'I  know  that  is  he!' 

Then  down  in  thy  soul  I  will  quickly  hide, 

And  caress  my  children,  Envy  and  Pride  ; 

And  you  must  be  bland  as  a  summer  sea, 

And  say ;  '  Madam,  my  love,  do  call  on  me  ! 

And  the  dear  little  ones  —  hope  they  are  well?' 

While  within  I  am  raging,  black  as  hell. 

As  for  your  kin,  you  must  say  to  them,    '  Come,' 

For  in  your  palace  you  know  there  is  room, 

And  the  world  would  censure  if  they  should  starve ; 

They  have  not  the  wit  their  fortunes  to  carve, 


162  SATAN'S  ADVICE. 

So  you  must  provide  them  all  with  a  place, 
But  do  it  with  such  a  niggardly  grace 
That,  worn  and  vexed,  they  will  venture  to  say 
They  '  had  rather  live  on  a  penny  a  day.' 

But  it  is  time  we  disposed  of  your  ward  ; 

Can  it  be  you  fear  the  anger  of  God  ? 

You  tremble,  for  you  remember  the  blow 

When  his  red  right  hand  laid  your  loved  ones  low. 

I  plot  and  plan,  but  His  will  is  complete ; 

When  he  strikes  I  lie  crouching  at  his  feet ; 

Though  I  have  oft  defied,  disowned  His  power, 

I  never  could  yet  for  a  single  hour 

Shield  the  wretch  when  summoned  before  his  throne 

To  answer  for  sins  in  the  body  done  ; 

But  if  you  are  willing  to  serve  me  true, 

I  will  do  the  best  that  I  can  for  you. 


SATAN'S  ADVICE.  163 

Of  this  world's  goods  you  shall  have  your  full  share, 

The  ward  you  can  leave  in  my  gentle  care ; 

I  will  show  you  how  to  be  rid  of  her 

In  a  quiet  manner,  without  a  stir. 

You  cannot  beat  or  burn  or  starve  or  drown, 

Such  things  would  be  published  throughout  the  town; 

But  there  are  weapons  to  crush  out  her  life 

More  deadly  far  than  the  assassin's  knife.: 

You  can  trample  on  all  that  is  pure  and  good  ; 

You  can  crush  the  bright  spark  of  womanhood ; 

You  can  dry  the  tear,  you  can  freeze  the  soul  ; 

You  can  get  her  so  under  your  control 

That  she  dare  not  speak  or  move  at  her  ease 

For  fear  that  her  tyrant  she  might  displease. 

You  can  teach  her  distrust ;  to  play  a  part : 

To  scorn  all  emotion,  feeling,  and  heart ; 


164  SATAN'S  ADVICE. 

You  need  not  address  her  one  kindly  word, 

And  when  her  young  soul  within  her  is  stirred 

By  charity,  love,  friendship,  or  pain, 

Laugh,  and  tell  her  she  has  nothing  to  gain. 

The  world  is  too  wise  for  such  follies  now, 

And  Mammon  the  shrine  at  which  we  all  bow. 

And  when  your  disdain,  hate,  coolness,  and  scorn 

Have  made  her  wish  that  she  never  was  born, 

And  driven  her  forth  from  her  guardian's  door, 

Never,  never,  to  cross  its  portals  more, 

You  can  say  to  all  who  may  chance  to  come : 

'  I  miss  my  dear  friend  since  she  left  her  home.' 

I  know  your  dead  father  with  solemn  air, 

This  poor  child  confided  unto  your  care, 

To  love  and  cherish,  to  counsel  and  guide, 

'Till  death  should  place  you  once  more  by  his  side, 


SATAN'S  ADVICE.  165 

But  what  do  we  care  for  his  wishes  now  ? 
We  have  all  his  money,  the  world  must  bow ; 
Whate'er  it  thinks  we  will  keep  it  at  bay, 
The  cock  he  must  crow,  the  dog  have  its  day." 

Until  the  day  when  the  Father  of  all 

Who  have  ever  lived  on  this  earthly  ball 

Calls  each  to  account  for  talents  misused, 

For  all  blessings  slighted,  scorned,  or  abused  ; 

When  each  soul  must  appear  naked  and  true, 

To  meet  the  Great  Eye  that  pierces  us  through  ; 

When,  stripped  of  splendor  that  dazzles  below, 

We  stand  before  God  as  his  friend  or  foe  — 

Say,  how  will  you  meet  him?  with  scorn  and  pride, 

Defying  him  there  as  here  you  defied  ? 

When  he  asks  for  his  own,  give  him  the  cloth 

Where  the  talent's  wrapped  of  so  little  worth? 
o 


1 66  SATAN'S  ADVICE. 

Or  vainly  on  rocks  and  mountains  will  call 
To  shield  you  from  Him,  Avenger  of  all? 
Too  late  for  mercy,  your  doom  will  be  sealed  ; 
No  light  in  your  soul  will  e'er  be  revealed ; 
Satan  will  claim  you,  as  here  he  has  done ; 
Hell's  gates  will  be  opened,  both  will  be  one. 
But  still  the  ward  in  a  forgiving  tone 
Wrestled  thus  for  her  soul  before  the  throne. 
God  knows  I  hope  this  doom  will  not  be  thine, 
Though  deeply  you  have  injured  me  and  mine  ; 
But  we  are  taught  by  Him,  in  his  blest  creed, 
To  forgive  all  sins  both  by  word  and  deed, 
And  truly  I  trust  that  the  pardoning  power 
Bestowed  on  the  thief  in  that  last  sad  hour 
May  extend  to  thee ;  and  blood  from  that  side 
Wash  thy  scarlet  sins  white  in  its  crimson  tide  ; 


SATAN'S  ADVICE.  167 

That  those  eyes  that  have  never  yet  shed  tears 

Except  for  thyself,  thy  own  griefs  and  fears, 

May  be  raised  to  Jesus  for  hope  and  rest, 

And,  thy  vile  soul  purged,  find  peace  on  his  breast ! 


TRINITY. 

i^\  GOD,  the  Father,  give  me  strength 

To  keep  thy  perfect  law, 
Never  to  swerve  from  duty's  path 

Or  from  the  right  withdraw. 

O  God,  the  Son,  our  pattern  pure, 

Teach  me  unselfish  love, 
To  value  still  my  neighbor's  good 

All  other  aims  above. 

O  God,  the  Spirit,  send  me  grace 

To  bear  each  coming  ill, 
1 68 


TRINITY.  169 

To  bow  in  meekness  'neath  the  rod, 
Nor  murmur  at  thy  will. 

Power,  Love,  and  Grace,  "The  Triune  God," 

Thyself  to  me  impart, 
That  one  I  may  become  with  thee, 

In  mind,  in  soul,  in  heart 

*o 


DARKNESS    AND    LIGHT. 

/^\NE  moonlight  eve  I  had  been  musing  long 

Upon  the  fitness  of  the  universe  ; 

On  Heaven  and  Hell,  the  seen  and  the  unseen, 

The  immutable  and  the  mutable  ; 

Why  wrong  should  be  instead  of  the  great  right, 

What  use  in  pain  of  any  kind  or  sort, 

Whether  to  rack  the  body  or  the  mind. 

A  Supreme  Being  must  be  supremely  wise, 

And  all  an  emanation  from  his  will. 

Can  He  be;  then,  part  evil  and  part  good  ? 

Or  is  the  former  in  man's  thought  alone  ? 

No  ;  the  body's  anguish  is  an  evil 

170 


DARKNESS    AND    LIGHT.  I? I 

Which  sanity  can  ne'er  pronounce  a  good. 
Then,  if  the  All-Wise  does  permit  it  here, 
Will  it  not  cling  to  us  in  other  worlds, 
There  to  torment  with  perhaps  greater  power  ? 
And  for  the  lost  is  there  a  place  prepared? 
Lost,  —  and  how  lost  ?     In  God's  broad  universe 
Is  there  a  molecule  or  an  atom  lost, 

Annihilated  ?   when  each  thought  we  breathe, 

• 

Each  word  we  speak,  had  an  existence, 

And  must  have  one  still,  part  of  the  great  whole. 

If  matter's  not  created,  is  spirit? 

Perchance  each  but  change  their  form,  and  spirit 

Is  only  a  subtler  kind  of  matter 

That  each  particle  with  life  possesses, 

Tho'  it  eludes  the  chemist's  fine  analysis. 

We  have  the  power  of  changing  matter: 


DARKNESS   AND   LIGHT. 


This  essence  God  retains  in  his  own  grasp,  — 
To  us  the  secret  confided  never. 

And  so  I  mused  'till  I  began  to  doubt 

God,  Heaven,  the  world,  my  own  identity. 

All  was  black  chaos  as  before  the  words, 

"  Let  there  be  light,"  and  so  I  wandered  forth, 

And  met  one  upon  whom  men  looked  with  dread. 

His  life  was  thought  unholy  to  have  been, 

Though  what  his  crime  was,  none  vouchsafed  to  tell. 

The  future,  it  was  said,  he  might  unveil, 

But  through  his  evil  master  ;   therefore  few 

Dare  question  him.     The  poor  folk  crossed  themselves 

If  he  approached,  and  gave  him  "right  of  way." 

Seldom  he  spoke,  and  no  interest  took 

In  aught  that  e'er  another  did  concern  ; 

Sufficient  seemed  he  to  himself  alone. 


DARKNESS    AND   LIGHT. 

I  simply  bowed,  and  thus  accosted  him  : 

It  is  said  that  from  some  dark  source  you  gain 

Knowledge  beyond  our  ken.     To  me  impart 

The  secret  of  eternal  life  or  death. 

Tell  me,  if  in  far  brighter  orbs  we  live, 

Or  sink  to  deeper  night  without  a  hope  ? 

Are  we  immortal  as  we've  ever  been? 

Or  does  the  soul  commingle  with  the  dust  ? 

O,  great  magician,  if  you  have  the  power, 

Impart  the  truth  and  give  my  soul  relief! 

A  ray  of  moonlight  fell  upon  his  brow, 

And  as  he  raised  his  beaming  eyes  to  mine 

He  seemed  inspired  by  spirit  not  his  own. 

He  answered  not,  but  from  his  well-worn  coat 

A  book  he  took,  and  placed  it  in  my  hand  ; 

Open  it  fell,  and  on  a  page  I  saw 

Written,  "  Read  this,  and  you  will  be  wiser." 


174  DARKNESS   AND   LIGHT. 

I  hastened  home  my  treasure  to  explore. 
And,  knitting,  there  sat  my  aunt  Agatha, 
An  antique  spinster,  all  gaunt,  grim,  and  gray ; 
Her  skin,  hair,  dress,  of  the  same  neutral  hue. 
Her  life  was  one  great  duty,  —  pleasure  none ; 
Each  day  rolled  on  in  chill  monotony ; 
Yet  she  accepted  it  and  murmured  not. 
Had  she  a  staff  on  which  I  could  not  lean  ? 
Her  all,  summed  up,  was  but  to  mind  the  house, 
The  thriftless  poor  to  feed,  and  children  teach ; 
Herself  seemed  ever  absent  from  her  thought, 
Except  as  wanted  for  another's  good. 

(But  even  she  her  romance :    In  a  box, 
Securely  locked,  there  was  a  faded  flower, 
A  bit  of  ribbon,  a  worn,  wrinkled  glove, 
Yellow  with  age,  and  tiny  crumpled  notes 


DARKNESS    AND    LIGHT. 

Whose  perfume  seemed  to  speak  of  wasted  love, 
So  subtle  in  its  nature  even  now.) 

Youth,  wealth,  and  beauty  were  my  happy  fate  ; 
Courted,  admired,  loved,  without  a  foe, 
And  many  friends,  or  those  that  I  deemed  such, 
Who  rode,  drank,  smoked  with  me  as  I  desired. 
And  women,  too,  hung  breathless  on  my  smile, 
For  I  had  learned  the  witching  art  to  make 
The  softer  sex  yield  captive  to  my  will. 
And  yet  with  all  I  envied  Agatha. 

The  book  I  opened,  and  began  to  read. 

Can  it  be !     And  is  it,  then,  the  Bible 

The*  sage  has  given,  wherein  to  find  the  truth  ? 

The  Bible  which,  from  boyhood,  I  have  learnt, 


176  DARKNESS    AND    LIGHT. 

'Till  each  line  is  familiar  to  my  ear  ? 

I  glanced  upon  the  leaf,  and  every  word 

Seemed  to  be  fraught  with  meaning  new  and  strange, 

As  tho'  the  light  from  a  far  distant  star, 

For  ages  wandering  through  unbounded  space, 

Had  just  reached  earth  and  fallen  on  the  page; 

So  clearly  now  did  each  great  truth  appear  : 

And,  inspiration  guiding,  I  read  on. 

By  searching  deep  thou  ne'er  canst  find  out  God, 

Nor  wonders  vast  that  from  thee  He  has  hid  ; 

But  still  thy  duty  is  the  no  less  plain. 

Waste  not  thy  time  in  vain  imaginings, 

Which  do  thyself,  as  well  as  others,  wrong ; 

Thou  hast  a  field  of  action  in  the  world, 

Thy  talents  there  use  for  thy  fellows'  good  ; 

Shake  off  the  slime  of  slothful  egotism, 


DARKNESS    AND    LIGHT. 

Give  of  thy  knowledge  to  the  famished  crowd, 
Share  with  thy  brother  all  of  hoarded  wealth, 
Leave  not  a  soul  if  thou  canst  do  him  good ; 
Let  thy  loud  voice  as  a  clear  trumpet  sound 
In  bold  defence  of  innocence  when  wronged  ; 
From  truth  weed  error,  the  oppressed  one  cheer, 
And  make  the  world  the  better  for  your  life. 
Do  it,  not  only  you  may  save  your  soul, 
But  for  the  earnest  love  of  Christ's  great  work. 

There  is  no  merit  in  any  act  of  thine : 

A  draught  of  water  to  a  starving  beast 

Is,  in  God's  eye,  a  deed  of  charity, 

As  thousands  lavished  on  a  pauper's  home. 

And  why  ?    Because  each,  like  water  dripping, 

Tends  to  dissolve  the  granite  selfishness 

Deeply  imbedded  in  the  human  heart; 
P 


178  DARKNESS   AND    LIGHT. 

That  sin  of  sins  perchance  the  only  one ; 
Let  us  review  God's  moral  law,  and  see. 
Idolatry,  profanity,  and  work 
For  other  or  ourselves  upon  his  day, 
Disregard  of  every  natural  tie, 
Fraud,  lying,  lust,  murder,  and  coveting, — 
Can  they  not  all  be  traced  to  one  great  cause  ? 
And  deeply  Jesus  probed  the  human  heart 
When  he  demanded  of  the  good  young  man, 
Whom  culture  fine  had  kept  from  grosser  sin, 
"  Give  to  the  needy  all  thy  cherished  store, 
And  follow  me  un'.o  the  bitter  end." 
That  test  his  selfishness  could  not  endure, 
And  well  the  master  knew  the  fearful  fact. 

Food  to  the  starving  beggar, 
Clothes  to  the  destitute  child, 


DARKNESS   AND   LIGHT.  179 

Warmth  to  the  freezing  widow, 

A  draught  to  the  sick  man  wild ; 
Rest  to  the  woman  weary, 

A  light  to  the  captive's  cell, 
And  Christ  hath  promised  truly 

That  with  us  it  shall  be  well. 


THE    CLOCK    OF    THE     PASSION. 

THURSDAY,  p.  M. 

6  o  clock. 

\\  7ITHIN  a  chamber,  at  the  Feast, 
The  Lord  from  Heaven  above, 

Washes  his  poor  disciples'  feet 
In  meekness  and  in  love. 

7  o  clock. 

The  bread  he  breaks,  the  wine  he  pours, 

"  Christians,  where'er  you  be, 
Eat  of  my  body,  drink  my  blood 

In  memory  of  me. 
180 


THE  CLOCK  OF  THE  PASSION.          l8l 

There's  one  among  you  who  hath  oft 

Sworn  to  be  ever  true, 
Who,  this  night,  will  betray  his  Lord, 

And  shew  what  man  can  do." 

8  o  clock. 

From  Cedron  to  Gethsemane 

Behold  him  passing  now, 
His  followers  are  only  three 

Who  faithful  keep  their  vow. 

9  o  clock. 

"O,  Father,  may  this  bitter  cup 

Pass  from  thy  much  loved  Son ; 
Let  me  not  drink  it  to  the  dregs, 

But  yet  thy  will  be  done." 
*P 


1 82  THE  CLOCK  OF  THE  PASSION. 

And  to  his  weary  followers  now, 
"Could  ye  not  watch  one  hour? 

Watch  and  pray  often,  if  ye  would 
Vanquish  the  Tempter's  power." 

10  o'clock. 

Again  that  agonizing  prayer, 
An  angel  comes  to  cheer; 

His  bloody  sweat  rolls  on  the  ground, 
His  darkest  hour  is  near. 

1 1  o  clock. 

He  goes,  alas,  to  meet  his  doom ; 

His  foes  he  cannot  miss  ; 
The  once  loved  Judas  on  his  lips 

Imprints  the  traitor  kiss. 


THE    CLOCK   OF    THE    PASSION.  183 

12  o  clock. 

They  bind  him  with  those  cruel  cords, 

Taunt  him  with  brutal  jest, 
And  lead  him  to  Jerusalem 
To  torture  there  with  zest. 

FRIDAY,  A.  M. 

1  o  clock. 

Before  the  High  Priest,  Caiaphas, 

Falsely  accused  he  stands ; 
Witnesses  swear  his  life  away, 

His  blood  be  on  their  hands. 

2  o'clock. 

Thrice  Peter  doth  deny  his  Lord, 
And  thrice  the  cock  doth  crow, 

All  now  forsake  the  Lamb  of  God, 
No  aid  from  man  below. 


184          THE  CLOCK  OF  THE  PASSION. 

Jesus  on  Peter  turns  his  eyes 
With  look  of  tender  love, 

The  bitterness  of  that  reproof, 
All  censure  far  above. 

3  o'clock. 

Over  those  holy,  precious  eyes 
Th'  accursed  cloth  is  bound ; 

They  smite,  and  in  derision  ask, 
Whose  hand  inflicts  the  wound  ? 

4  o  clock. 

When  Pilate  questions,  "Are  you  king? 

Are  these  your  subjects  here?" 
"I  have  a  kingdom,"  he  replies, 

"Where  title  deeds  are  clear." 


THE    CLOCK    OF    THE    PASSION.  18$ 

5  o'clock. 

Herod  in  puerile  mockery, 

Clothes  him  in  garments  white, 

Altho'  well  fitted  to  the  Lord 
Of  Innocence  and  Light. 

FRIDAY,   A.  M. 

6  o'clock. 

The  people  loudly  clamor  for 

Barahbas's  release, 
Knowing  that  Pilate's  only  fear 

Is  to  disturb  their  peace. 

/  o'clock. 

The  knotted  scourge  cuts  long  and  deep, 

Blood  follows  from  each  stroke, 
No  heart  to  share  his  agony, 
None  where  compassion  woke. 


1 86  THE   CLOCK   OF    THE   PASSION. 

8  o'clock. 

A  crown  of  thorns  is  on  his  head, 
A  reed  put  in  his  hand, 

A  purple  robe  upon  him  placed 
By  the  derisive  band. 

9  o'clock, 

In  many  ways  doth  Pilate  try 
For  his  release  a  plan, 

But  failing  all,  brings  Jesus  forth 
And  says,  "Behold  the  man." 

10  o'clock. 

Still  he  protests  in  him  no  fault 
For  which  he  ought  to  die, 

But  yields  at  last  to  the  loud  call 
Of  Priests,  to  crucify. 


THE   CLOCK   OF   THE    PASSION.  1 8/ 

1 1  d  clock. 

His  cross  he  bears,  and  murmurs  not 

Beneath  his  heavy  load, 
'Till  Calvary's  red  mount  is  reached, 

Where  now  must  die  a  God. 

12  o  clock. 

Nailed  to  the  tree,  behold  him  now 
Fastened  between  two  thieves; 

What  agony  upon  that  brow, — 
How  his  strong  bosom  heaves ! 

FRIDAY,     p.  M. 
i  d clock. 

His  love  and  mercy  not  forgot, 
Unto  the  thief  is  given 


1 88  THE   CLOCK   OF   THE  PASSION. 

The  promise  he  shall  share  to-day 
With  him  the  joys  of  Heaven. 

And  for  his  enemies  he  prays, 
"  They  know  not  what  they  do. 

Father  forgive  them  for  my  sake, 
This  deadly  wrong  to  you." 


2  o  clock. 


The  scorching  agony  of  thirst, 
A  moment  fills  his  mind, 

But  he  rejects  the  proffered  gall, 
Again  his  thought  is  kind : 

Love  for  a  mother  wakes  his  heart, 
Care  for  her  days  to  come, 


THE    CLOCK   OF   THE    PASSION.  1 89 

And  of  his  loved  disciple  asks 
That  he  will  take  her  home. 

3  o'clock. 

The  fearful  tragedy  is  o'er, 

"'Tis  finished,"  so  he  cries, 
"  Father,  my  soul  is  in  thy  hands," 

And  bowing,  meekly  dies. 

4  o  clock. 

With  their  bright,  cruel  lances  keen, 

The  soldiers  pierce  his  side, 
And  from  it  blood  and  water  flows 

In  a  pale  crimson  tide. 
Q 


1 90  THE   CLOCK   OF   THE   PASSION. 

5  o'clock. 

From  the  vile  cross  the  Saviour's  borne 

By  friends,  unto  his  tomb, 
And  an  appalling  darkness  fills 
The  universe  with  gloom. 


THE     REMAINING    PIECES     WERE     WRITTEN     BY 

RELATIVES   OF  THE  AUTHOR   OF   THOSE 

PRECEDING     THEM. 


TO    MY    DAUGHTER    ISABELLA,    ON    HER 
TWENTY-FIRST    BIRTHDAY* 

"V/'OU  request  me,  dear  Bell,  to  pen  a  simple  lay, 
To  celebrate  th'  event,  your  twenty-first  birthday ; 
But,  my  dear  child,  know  you  that  genius  I  have  none, 
That  the  Muses  were  absent  the  time  I  was  born. 
How  can  I  presume,  then,  to  call  upon  their  aid, 
For  what  Nature  cruelly  denied  when  she  made  ? 
Truly  they  would  deride  my  attempts  at  "sublime," — 
Bid  me  presume  not  the  mount  "Parnassus"  to  climb. 


*  Written  by  Mrs.  Charlotte  P.  De  Wolf,  and  revised  by  her  loving  daughter,  who 
wished  to  preserve  the  piece  for  the  friends  of  the  family. 

*Q  193 


IQ4  TO    MY    DAUGHTER    ISABELLA. 

"  Step  from   your  sphere,  you    have  neither  talent    nor 

wit ; 

Go  hbme  to  your  duties  and  think  well  how  to  knit" 
Think,   did    you    say  ?   and   can   the  Nine    solve  me   a 

thought  ? 

A  problem  whose  solution  has  never  been  wrought  ? 
That  mysterious  "  ignis  fatuus "  of  the  mind, 
Outshoots    the   lightning's    speed,   and   leaves    meteors 

behind ; 

An  unwearied  tyrant  that  never  quits  the  brain, 
And  ever  the  centre  of  pleasure,  or  of  pain  ; 
Without  which,  man  were  a  leaden  mass  of  matter, 
Devoid  of  all  conception  of  a  hereafter. 
Can    there   be    mind   where  no    thought    ever   finds    a 

place  ? 
Only  the  brute  can  answer, — not  the  human  race. 


TO    MY    DAUGHTER    ISABELLA.  1 95 

But  methinks  you  observe  this  is  no  fitting  lay 

To  be  written  to  me  upon  my  natal  day. 

It  is  true,  my  dear  child,  my  words  have  not  expressed 

The  deep-seated  feeling  ensconced  within  my  breast ; 

My  heart's  poetical,  my  thoughts  rudely  sublime, 

But  niggard  Ideality  denies  me  a  rhyme. 

But  e'en  now  I  will  commence  with  a  dog-trot  verse, 

And  a  few  reminiscences  try  to  rehearse. 

Can  it  be,  dear  Bell,  you  are  indeed  twenty-one? 

Time  has  flown  since  the  hour  you  were  not  born  a  son. 

"  A  score  of  girls,"  the  gossips  said,  "  we  'd  hoped  a  boy," 

"  For  a  girl,  after  all,  can  be  only  a  toy." 

But  it  mattered  naught  unto  her  who  gave  you  birth. 

For  she  was  the  very  happiest  thing  on  earth ; 

And  whether  God's  great  gift  was  a  girl  or  a  boy, 

Her  heart  and  soul  were  filled  with  ineffable  joy  ; 


196  TO    MY   DAUGHTER   ISABELLA. 

Heaven    showered   choice   blessings    upon   your   infant 

head, 

The  softest  eider-down  composed  your  tiny  bed, 
Your  slips  were  woven  by  India's  finest  loom, 
Rich  lace  adorned  that  brow  as  yet  unknown  to  gloom  ; 
And  thou  wert  beautiful,  with  eyes  of  azure  blue, 
And  a  rare  expression,  as  if  the  soul  shone  through. 
Carnation    cheek,    rosebud    mouth,    teeth   as    white    as 

milk, 

And  skin  like  Orient  pearl,  its  texture  soft  as  silk: 
A  Hebe  in  beauty,  and  Hygeia  in  health ; 
Truly  a  fortune  in  self  of  unbounded  wealth. 

Your  infancy  was  cradled  in  a  princely  home, 

A  regal  mansion  where  fine  taste  and  beauty  shone ; 

Corinthian  columns  supported  the  stately  pile, 

So  imposing  that  strangers  stood  gazing  awhile ; 


TO    MY    DAUGHTER    ISABELLA. 


All  admired  this  spacious  and  lofty  dome, 

And  none  that  entered  its  precincts  e'er  wished  to  roam. 

The  splendid  saloons  were  hung  with  China's  crimson 

silks, 
And  golden   eagles  spread  their  wings    to  guard    their 

jewelled  beaks  ; 
The  floors  were  clad  in  "Brussels,"  and   ottomans  had 

place, 
With    Egyptian    mantels    polished    so   that    one    might 

see  their  face  ; 

The  chandeliers  of  crystal  were  from  Venetia's  store. 
And    scattered    round    were    volumes  of  Byron,    Scott, 

and  Moore, 

There  were  alabaster  graces  by  Canova  well  designed, 
And  sweet  harmonious  music  to  elevate  the  mind, 
And  there  assembled  oft,  were  beauty,  wit,  and  grace, 
And  costly  mirrors  to  reflect  each  bright  and  happy  face, 


198  TO    MY   DAUGHTER   ISABELLA. 

And  did  you  wish  for  perfume  your  senses  to  regale, 

The  conservatory  open,  its  sweets  you  inhale. 

i 

There  sat  the  goddess  Flora,  in  majesty  of  state, 
Clasping  her  exotics,  from  mountain,  sea,  and  lake, 
All  wishing  to  be  the  one  presiding  genius, 
And  the   choice   fell    on, —  whom?   the  night-blooming 

cereus. 

The  cardinal  myrtle  called  him  "parvenu;" 
Said  they  had  rather  be  classed  with  rude  feather-few, 
That  his  birth-place  was  in  a  thick  jungle  or  bog, 
That  his  life  had  been  passed  round  an  old  rotten  log, 
That  his  perfume  was  sweet,  but  exhaled  in  the  night, 
That  one  must  be  bad  to  prefer  darkness  to  light ; 
There  was  the  amaranth  whose  life  is  forever, 
On    whom  Time  makes  no  change,  and    Death  cannot 

sever. 


TO    MY   DAUGHTER    ISABELLA.  199 

The  "Passion  Flower,"  glorious,  meek,  and   sublime, 
A  fit  emblem  of  Him  whom  man  owns  as  divine  ; 
And  numberless  roses,  but  none  called  "the  elite," 
Save,  "Heaven  born  Alexandrine,"  "Moss,"  and  "Tea" 

sweet ; 
All   these    roses    formed    wreaths,    that    the    cherubs 

entwined, 

Beauty,  virtue,  and  love,  were  the  symbols  designed ; 
The  love  of  the  nightingale  for  this  sweet  flower, 
Is  the  theme  of  the  poet  for  many  an  hour, 
And  the  loving  chaste  orange  tree  blossomed  there  too, 
To  form  wreaths  for  the  bride  ever  spotless  and  new, 
And  the  century-plant  whose  bloom  denotes  decay, 
Warning  us  that  earthly  bliss  will  soon  pass  away ; 
There    were    singing    birds    from    grove,    forest,    and 

mountain, 
And  goldfish  that  swam  in  a  clear  crystal  fountain. 


2OO  TO    MY   DAUGHTER    ISABELLA. 

Each   spring,   in   the   garden,    queen    Flora   held   high 

state, 

And  invited  her  courtiers  to  a  grand  fete, 
And  on  the  verdant,  smooth,  sparkling,  emerald   lawn. 
They  danced  and  made  merry,  from  evening  till  dawn, 
First  the  coxcomb  Narcissus,  on  his  slender  stalk, 
Paid  his  devoirs  so  fine  to  tall  Miss  Hollyhock, 
Then  came  the  Dowager  Peonia  with  a  red  face, 
Sadly  wanting  in  beauty,  deficient  in  grace, 
The  haughty  "  Crown  Imperial,"  proud  of  his  name, 
And  of  the  pearl  in  its  petals  languidly  came, 
Next  the  Tulips,  clad  in  rich  robes  of  rainbow  hue, 
Flaunted  their  gay  colors  near  the  tall  Southern  yew, 
And   looked  with  contempt  on   the  pure    Snowdrop  so 

white, 
And  the  Violet  too  modest,  shrinking  from  light, 


TO    MY   DAUGHTER   ISABELLA.  2OI 

The  Hyacinth,  Cowslip,  and  Syringa  sweet, 

Wooed  the  trembling  Anemone  from  her  retreat ; 

And,  bowing  low,  came  the  Dandy,  lion  of  fate, 

Who  can  tell,  without  doubt,  who  is  true  to  his  mate; 

Th'  odoriferous  Lilac,  and  blooming  Snowball, 

Then  came  dropping   their  petals    through    the   bright 

gay  hall, 

The  sweet  Lily,  stiff  Primrose,  and  dainty  Heartsease, 
Were  invited  to  dance,  and  as  long  as  they  please; 
The  "Prince's  Feather"  nodded  low  to  Miss  Goldcup, 
And  asked  the  honor  with  her  lady-ship  to  sup ; 
All  the  Asters  were  there,  and  each  branch  might  be 

told, 
And   'twas   whispered    John    Jacob   would    wed    Mary 

Gold. 
The  Coxcomb  came  prinking,  so  afraid  it  was  late, 

But  he  hoped  Miss  Carnation  would  find  him  a  mate ; 
R 


2O2  TO   MY   DAUGHTER  ISABELLA. 

Miss    "  Fleur  de  Lis "   accepted   with  grace   his   white 
hand, 

y 

But  that  she  was  royal  gave  him  to  understand, 

The  Acacia  wove  his  golden  chain,  link  by  link, 

Around  the  lovely  daughter  of  Carnation  Pink, 

The  splendid  Oleander  flirts  with  Magnolia, 

The  fickle  Hydrangea  with  grand  Centipolia, 

The  gallant  Sweet-William,  known  to  be  a  rich  heir, 

Caused    a    blush    on    the    Rose,   when    he   whispered 

"You're  fair." 

The  princely  Dahlias  flaunted  in  their  regal  pomp, 
But  doffed  their  lofty  airs  when  ready  for  a  romp ; 
The  gallant  Larkspur  ogled  proud  Miss  Touch-me-not, 
And  Miss  Primrose  muttered  "  He  surely  has  forgot ; 
Now  I  should  not  countenance  such  a  sad  roue ; 
I  wonder  what  the  Bachelors  near  me  would  say?" 


TO    MY   DAUGHTER   ISABELLA.  2O3 

"Trailing   Creeper"   crawled   along  with  his   measured 

step, 

And  said  he  could  dance,  but  should  need  a  little  help, 
The  Honeysuckle,  Clematis,  and  Columbine, 
With  affection  their  tendrils  o'er  all  do  entwine ; 
Then  there  was  the  Belle  shining  superbly  at  night, 
But  whom  a  ray  from  Aurora  will  change  to  a  fright. 
Next  comes  the  bold,  brazen-faced  flower  of  the  Sun, 
Who  unveiled,  her  God  follows  throughout  his  long  run. 
The  Wall-flower  stood  apart,  th'  Abbey  his  retreat, 
His  blood-stained  robe  told  tales  of  murder  and  defeat. 
"Johnny  go  to  bed"  spread  his  couch  with  Rose-mary, 
And  said  he  should  leave,  for  sleepy  he  was  very; 
Next  came  drowsy  Poppy,  nodding,  yawning  along, 
And  declared  it  was  time  to  disperse  the  gay  throng, 
That  a  drop  from  his  petals  would  put  them  to  sleep, 
But  he  said  there  was  danger  in  drinking  too  deep, 


2O4  TO   MY   DAUGHTER   ISABELLA. 

So  they  took  his  advice,  and  all  left  the  gay  scene, 
And  Aurora  shed  light  on  the  emerald  green. 

When  the  harvest  was  gathered,  and  Summer  was  past, 
Pomona,  the  queen,  said  "  That  the  first  should  be  last, 
And  Artemisia,  Stockjelly,  and  Flora's  bouquet, 
Should  come  to  her  party  ere  passing  away, 
Also  fragrant  Mignonette,  and  blue-eyed  Lucerne, 
The  rare  beauties  of  which  all  that  look  may  discern." 
And  the  Sweet  Pea  came  slowly  winding  down  the  stair, 
To  meet  her  friends  in  Phlox,  who  had  assembled  there. 
And  soon  the  ample,  luxurious  board  was  spread, 
But  the  Daisy  dared  not  rear  her  sweet  modest  head. 
Cornucopceia  presided  with  lavish  hand, 
And  the  wants  of  her  guests  seemed  to  well  understand. 
There  were  peaches  so  delicious,  juicy,  and  large 
A  luxury  unknown  in  Cleopatra's  barge, 


TO   MY   DAUGHTER   ISABELLA. 


The  pears  of  St.  Michael,  and  Burdelue  mellow, 
Their    tints    of  all   hues,   brown,   crimson,   green,   and 

yellow  ; 

There  were  grapes,  apricots,  nectarines,  fine  and   rare, 
For  on  them  had  been  bestowed  the  tenderest  care  ; 
There  were  apples,  too,  intended  for  more  than  show, 
And  naught  to  me  is  sweeter  than  an  apple  blow. 
When  Memory  retraces  my  childhood's  golden  hours, 
She  pauses  to  inhale  the  fragrance  of  those  flowers  ; 
The  Anana  was  Pomona's  delight  and  pride,  — 
I  preferred  the  "  pyrus  malus,"  close  by  its  side  ; 
And  grapes  in  rich  festoons  entwined  the  mossy  seats, 
Their  tendrils  trying  to  perform  some  fantastic  feats. 

O  days,  when  no  care  preyed   on  that   light  heart  of 
mine, 

No  blighted  hopes  to  retard  the  eagle  wing  of  time, 
*R 


2O6  TO   MY   DAUGHTER   ISABELLA. 

But  a  change  came  o'er  Eden,  no  dream  of  the  brain, 

But  a  curse  terrible  as  that  of  Eve  to  Cain; 

The  mad  whirlpool  engulphed  my  fairy  bark  of  bliss, 

Judge  of  the  woe  caused  by  calamity  like  this  ; 

So  I  sigh  o'er  the  past,  and  weep  o'er  the  present, 

And  dread  the  future  with  its  evils  attendant. 

I  cannot,  I  will  not,  sit  here  supine  and  sad, 

In  this  state  of  inaction  shall  surely  go  mad ; 

Time  is  thought  to  be  well  skilled  in  the  healing  art, 

But  knows  no  panacea  for  a  breaking  heart. 

No  thunder  rolled,  nor  lighting  flashed,  to  sound  the 

dread  alarm, 
The  natural  world,  as  if  to  mock,  put  forth  her  every 

charm. 
What  cared  she  whose  heart  might  break  on  that  sad, 

bitter  night, 
The  joyous  morn  was  ushered  in  with  all  its  pristine  light, 


TO    MY    DAUGHTER   ISABELLA.  2O/ 

No  day  returned  to  cheer  my  sad  and  sickly  heart, 
The  aim  was  sure  and  Time  fails  to  extract  the  dart. 
Is  there  in  trackless  forest,  where  human  foot  ne'er  trod, 
An  elixir  for  our  woes  known  only  unto  God  ? 
Nature  doth  abound  with  specifics  for  relief, — 
Is  there  no  healing  balsam  for  a  heart  torn  with  grief? 

As  I  entered  the  dark  and  dismal  mine,  with  feelings 

of  horror  and  dread, 
I  was  met  by  a  demon  who  turned  my  heart  to  balls 

of  lead. 
Then  I  hailed  the  gay  lark  as  he  soared  high  through 

the  air, 

And  urged  to  be  wafted  to  a  region  more  fair; 
"O  tell  me,  as  you  carol  from  planet  to  star, 
Is   there   no   blest   fountain   to  heal   the   heart's   deep 

scar?" 


208  TO   MY   DAUGHTER   ISABELLA. 

"Oh,  no,"  said  the  songster,  "I  have  flown  round  this 

zone, 

And  found  no  cure  for  the  soul  that's  bleeding  and  torn." 
But  there  is,  there  must  be,  some  far  glorious  orb, 
Where  our   tears  do  not   flow,  and  our   hearts   do  not 

throb ; 

Where  pure  spirits  dwell  in  celestial  realms  of  light, 
No  chrysalis  there,  no  long  and  wearisome  night, 
When  shall  I  emerge  from  this  vile  aurelian  coil, 
And  like  the  freed  insect  fly  from  all  care  and  toil, 
Safe  to  Heaven  to  recline  on  my  Father's  breast, 
In  the  mansion  of  love,  there  forever  to  rest. 


THE    OLD     MAN'S  LAMENT. 

TO    THE    CHILDREN,    AND    GRAND    CHILDREN,    OF    MY    MOST 
EXCELLENT    FRIEND,   THE    LATE    HONORABLE   WIL 
LIAM    BRADFORD,    OF    BLESSED    MEMORY. 

A     MERRY  Christmas  to  you  all, 
Says  poor  Nathaniel  West ; 
Long  may  my  patron's  children  live, 
With  health  and  plenty  blest. 

Let's  call  to  mind  the  happy  days, 

(With  pleasure  sure  we  may,) 
When  your  good  father  rul'd  the  Mount  * 

With  hospitable  sway. 

*  Mount  Hope,  R.  I. 
209 


2IO  THE   OLD   MANS   LAMENT. 

Father  of  all  beneath  his  roof, 

Where  plenty  always  flowed, 
His  bounty  he,  with  joyful  heart, 

On  every  guest  bestowed. 

Where'er  he  met  the  coming  guest, 

The  beggar,  or  the  Count,* 
The  language  of  his  heart  was  still, 

You're  welcome  to  the  Mount. 

Bright  glowed  the  fires,  round  whirled  the  spit, 

The  willing  cellar  bled ; 
The  table  groaned  beneath  its  load, 

'Till  every  guest  was  fed. 

Oft  have  I  heard  that  table  roar, 
While  mirth  and  wine  went  round ; 

•The  sobriquet  of  the  late  worthy  and  venerable  Jonathan  Russell. 


THE   OLD    MANS   LAMENT.  211 

The  happy  host,  and  joyous  guest, 
Made  all  the  hall  resound. 

The  kitchen  caught  the  joyful  glee, 

And  echoed  back  the  strain. 
While  rallying  round  the  second  cut, 

The  cider  flowed  amain. 

O  kitchen !  scene  of  all  my  joys, 

Where  want  was  never  known, 
Where  squashes,  hams,  and  runnet  bags, 

In  brilliant  order  shone. 

Oft  in  the  field  this  furrowed  brow 

Has  sweat  beneath  the  fork ; 
But  often  er  in  the  kitchen  sweat, 

While  eating  beef  and  pork. 


212  THE   OLD   MANS   LAMENT. 

Even  now  it  makes  my  brow  perspire, 
And  sets  my  throat  to  itching, 

To  think  of  mugs  of  cider  drank 
In  that  same  glorious  kitchen. 

O  halcyon  days,  O  happy  times, 

To  memory  most  dear, 
Thanksgiving  then  came  every  day, 

'Twas  Christmas  all  the  year. 

Old  Uncle  Song,  and  Hannah  Green, 

More  lucky  far  than  I, 
While  yet ,  their  master  blessed  the  earth, 

In  good  old  age  did  die. 

But  I  have  in  his  service  lived 
Full  three  and  twenty  years, 


THE    OLD    MANS    LAMENT.  213 

And  never  of  the  morrow  thought, — 
Devoid  of  cares  and  fears. 

To  tell  of  half  his  good  to  me, 

My  tale  would  never  end ; 
God  bless  his  soul — I'll  say  no  more, 

I've  lost  a  real  good  friend. 

But  now  the  times  are  sadly  changed, 

I  'm  old  and  piteous  poor ; 
In  tatter'd  rags,  with  feet  unshod, 

I  shiver  at  your  door. 

No  good  roast  beef  my  waistcoat  lines, 

No  cider  warms  my  heart, 
No  cotton  shirt  or  woolen  hose, 

To  ward  off  winter's  smart. 
s 


214  THE    OLD    MANS    LAMENT. 

Could  your  good  father  view  me  thus, 
From  realms  of  heavenly  bliss, 

In  accents  such  as  angels  use, 
His  language  would  be  this  : 

"Child,  clothe  the  naked,  house  the  poor, 
And  feed  him  at  your  board; 

Tis  my  request,  'tis  God's  command, 
You'll  here  have  your  reward." 


THE    COUNTRY    SCHOOL. 

/^*OOD  morning,  girls,  come  take  your  places, 

I  'm  glad  to  see  you  've  all  clean  faces ; 

Jane,  Grace,  and  Lucy,  come  and  read, 

If  you  for  once  can  be  agreed  — 

You  quarrelled  so  last  time  you  read 

You  almost  mazed  and  crazed  my  head. 

Well — now  begin  —  "Lucy  what's  now, 

A  desput  frown  is  on  your  brow  ? " 

"  Ma'am,  Gracie  says  she 's  up  a  top," 

"  So  I  be,  ma'am,"  — "  Hush !  one  at  a  time  —  stop. 

You  wan't  here  yesterday,  Miss  Grace, 

So  at  the  bottom  take  your  place ; 

215 


2l6  THE  COUNTRY  SCHOOL. 

Now,  Lucy,  read"  —  "and  Jesus  said, 

Hath  not  where  to  lay  his  head." 

"You've  skipped  a  line  —  what  are  you  about?" 

"Why,  ma'am,  the  words  are  all  thumbed  out." 

"  Let  Jane  begin  —  what 's  now  to  pay  ? " 

"Ma'am  —  Lucy  snatched  my  book  away." 

"Give  her  the  book  —  stop  all  such  jests." 

"The  foxes  have  holes,  the  birds  have  nests." 

"Why,  how  you  read  —  go  take  your  work 

And  hem  this  towel  in  a  jerk, 

Don't  let  a  single  stitch  be  seen ! 

Patty,  you've  kept  this  shirt  quite  clean. 

Hannah,  this  copy  isn't  good, 

You've  wrote  as  long  as  Betsey  Wood, 

And  see  how  she  comes  on.     You,  Jane  Whiting, 

And  you,  Grace  Thompson,  bring  your  writing. 


THE  COUNTRY  SCHOOL.  2I/ 

This  t's  not  crossed,  this  i's  not  dotted, 

And  goodness  suz  see  how  it's  blotted." 

"Ma'am,  Bila  Townley's  eating  apples," 

"  I  see  her  and  shall  rap  her  knuckles." 

"  I  Ve  used  my  yarn,  ma'am."     "  Very  well, 

Now  hear  the  younger  children  spell. 

Silence  them  boys  there,  —  George,  leave  knocking." 

"Ma'am,  Judy  Bostwick's  done  her  stocking." 

"  Ben  Atkins,  you  're  at  the  head,  spell  physic," 

«Ph— th"  —  "that  spells  phthisic." 

"Them  words  are  hard  and  we  can't  spell  'em," 

"  They  do  n't  study,  ma'am,"  —  "So  I  tell  'em. 

Go  learn  your  words."     "Ma'am,  Ben  said  vow," 

"  I  did  n't,  ma'am  —  she  lies  —  so  now, 

She  was  afeard  cos  she  said  gizzard." 

"Katy,  what's  that,"  "ampersand,"  "no,  izzard  "  — 


2l8  THE  COUNTRY  SCHOOL. 

"What's  that?"  "Great  O;"  "That?"  "Little  topped  I;" 

"There's  crooked  S,  great  banging  J, — 

Go  and  sit  down,  you  Hannah  Hawkin, 

Stand  on  the  floor  and  tell  whose  talking," 

"  Sam  Jones  playing  pushpin  with  John  Gray, 

Grace  Thompson  talking  with  Polly  Bray." 

"Ma'am,  I  han't  spoke  a  single  word," 

"  Jane  Whiting  talking  with  Nancy  Bird  ; " 

"This  sum  don't  prove  you  must  carry  more, 

Six  and  four  are  ten"  —  "I  knowed  that  afore." 

"  Ma'am,  Sally  hunches  me,  I  hain't  no  room "  — 

"William,  you're  late,  school's  almost  done," 

"Well  —  mammy  sent  me  on  an  errand 

\ 

About  our  cow  to  Parson  Truand, 
And  said  if  how  you  axed  the  reason," 
"  Ask,  not  axe,"  "  why  I  warn't  in  season," 


THE  COUNTRY  SCHOOL.  2IQ 

"Well,  hush  —  you've  said  enough  upon  it, 
Let  every  girl  get  on  her  bonnet ; 
Boys  make  your  manners  —  Polly  Broom 
Be  here  in  time  to  sweep  the  room." 


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